


your steady hands have pulled me through

by winter_flowers



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Growing Up Together, Humor, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Oblivious Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa Tooru-centric, Temporarily Unrequited Love, Vampire Oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-23
Updated: 2019-04-26
Packaged: 2019-08-28 00:10:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,878
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16712716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_flowers/pseuds/winter_flowers
Summary: “How can he be sodense?” Tooru complained. “I’m not even trying to hide it. Scratch that, I’ve been practicallyflauntingit to him since I decided he should know and hestilldoesn’t believe me.”Hanamaki shrugged. “It’s Iwaizumi, he literally has ‘rock’ in his name,” he pointed out. “’Sides, if he weren’t so dense, you wouldn’t have been able to hide your feelings from him for so long.”Tooru glared at him. “Those are two completely different things. He thought my animal blood waswine—I’ve been drinking it around him for the last fifteen years! How does he still think it's whatever red beverage that's convenient for the occasion?”“I mean, you do remember how he religiously bought you those vending machine tomato juice cans, right?”Or: 5 times Hajime was too dense to realize Tooru was a vampire and one time he finally did (and happened to realize something else along the way).





	1. Age Seven

**Author's Note:**

> Trying my hand at writing something non-angsty! This will be periodically updated whenever I can (aka whenever school decides to give me a little free time--which won't happen very frequently).
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> (Title is from TFK's Glow)

When the Oikawa family first moved next door to the Iwaizumis, Tooru was only a hyper seven-year-old half-vampire who loved sweets and still had trouble knowing what he should and should not say in front of humans. Being a half-vampire meant he inherited his father’s fair skin and need for blood, but was also able to enjoy human food and a human lifespan and growth rate like his mother. His immaturity, of course, meant that when he saw a boy with spiky black hair peeking at their moving van from behind the tree between his lawn and their neighbour’s, his first words were,

“Hi, I’m Oikawa Tooru! You smell good, can I taste you?”

(Obviously, that wasn’t the best first impression he could have made.)

In his defence, the boy _did_ smell good—in fact, Tooru would argue that to this day, his blood still had the sweetest scent he’d ever come across (but that could be his inner bias talking). However, Tooru knew that he’d said the wrong thing the instant the boy scrunched up his nose and crossed his small arms over his chest.

“I’m not food, so no. You’re weird,” he told Tooru before he turned around, intending to head inside his house.

Tooru chased after him. “Wait!” He stopped as the other boy did, with only a few metres of grass separating them. “You haven’t told me your name.”

He saw the hesitation swimming in the boy's eyes as he answered almost robotically, “I’m Iwaizumi Hajime. It’s nice to meet you.” Then, without a second glance, he vanished through the doorway.

 _Hajime_. Tooru tested the syllables on his tongue and grinned at how naturally they sounded. He was practically bouncing as he raced into the house to find his mother.

“Mom! I wanna go play with Hajime-chan,” he exclaimed and tugged on her sleeve until she gave him her undivided attention.

His mother frowned. “Who’s Hajime-chan?”

“He lives in the house beside us and he smells good,” Tooru chirped. “Mom, can I go play? Pretty please?”

“Tooru, what have I said about smelling people?” she chided.

His gaze lowered to his feet sheepishly. “You said not to.”

His mother sighed and smoothed a hand through Tooru’s hair. “Let me talk to Hajime-chan’s mom and we’ll see, okay, sweetheart? Now, go help your dad before he accidentally breaks something, you know he’s always more careful when you’re around.”

Tooru giggled and ran off to find his father, knowing full well the hilarities of the mishaps that had previously occurred when vampire super-strength was involved. That was unfortunately not one of the traits Tooru had received, much to his dismay, but at least he didn’t have to worry about cutting his hand on broken shards of plates and cups.

When his mother wasn’t ready to give him a final response at dinner, Tooru pestered her again and again until she admitted defeat and led him by the hand to the Iwaizumis’ house a few days later.

“Hi!” she greeted as the door opened to reveal a dark-haired woman with an apron tied around her waist. “Oh, I’m so sorry, am I interrupting?”

The woman—Hajime’s mother, they assumed—smiled. “No, not at all. You guys just moved in last week, right? I’m Iwaizumi Fumiko.” She extended her hand and Tooru’s mother shook it gladly.

“Oikawa Midori,” she said in return, then pushed Tooru forward. “This is my son, Tooru. He met your son the other day—Hajime-kun, right? They seem to be around the same age, so I was wondering if maybe they could have a playdate? There’s still a month until school starts and I don’t want Tooru to feel too bored.”

Iwaizumi Fumiko was already nodding before she could finish. “Of course! Just give me a second to call him over, Hajime’s in the backyard right now.”

She disappeared into the house and Tooru heard her yelling Hajime’s name. He was shifting from foot to foot in excitement, a wide grin on his face. Soon, she returned holding Hajime’s hand.

“Say hi to Tooru-kun, dear.”

Hajime’s eyes landed on Tooru and he blinked. “Oh, it’s you. The weird kid.”

His mother frowned down at him. “That’s not nice, Hajime. Apologize to Tooru-kun.”

But Tooru’s mom was shaking her head. “It’s fine, Tooru probably said something odd when they met.”

Tooru paid no mind to the adults’ conversation and instead focused on Hajime. “Play with me, Hajime-chan,” he all but commanded as he thrust his hand towards him.

“Don’t add _-chan_ to my name,” Hajime protested as he eyed him somewhat suspiciously, but eventually, he relented. “Come on, let’s go to the back.” He glanced up at his mother for permission and when she assented, he led Tooru down the steps on the side of the house.

As they pushed open the wooden door separating the backyard, Tooru marvelled at the colourful garden running down the length of the grounds, with flowers of all kinds in full bloom. He was still gaping at their beauty when Hajime pulled insistently on his wrist.

“Come on, let’s go catch some bugs!”

 _Catch bugs?_ Tooru had never done that before. “How do you catch bugs?”

Hajime stared at him in disbelief. “You’ve never caught bugs before? How’s that possible?” He frowned. “Here, let me show you.”

He walked over to the base of a tree in the opposite corner and Tooru hurried after him. There, Hajime picked up a clear jar just a little larger than his hand, with small holes poked into the lid, and showed his new friend its contents. Inside was a stag beetle that Hajime had captured earlier that morning, its front legs pushing on the glass walls of its confines.

Tooru recoiled rapidly, backing away as Hajime raised the jar to eye level. “Ew, get that away from me!”

“But look,” Hajime insisted. “See, it’s so cool!”

Shaking his head vigorously, Tooru protested, “It’s disgusting!” His bottom lip began to tremble as tears welled up in his eyes.

Seeing his distress, Hajime set the jar back down on the ground. “Okay, okay, it’s gone now. Just—just don’t cry, okay?”

Tooru sniffled and nodded, drying his eyes with his palms. “Can we do something else, Hajime-chan?”

“I told you not to call me _-chan_.” But Hajime wasn’t frowning. “Let’s go climb a tree then.”

Tooru’s eyes lit up. “Okay!” He followed Hajime’s lead and grabbed onto one of the low-hanging branches. His feet struggled to find purchase on the trunk as he began to haul himself higher, staring at Hajime’s shoes the whole way up.

He didn’t manage to climb very far when his right foot suddenly slipped and before Tooru could process what was happening, his back had hit the ground. Hard.

_Ow ow ow hurts it hurts so much want Mommy want need blood ow ow ow_

“Tooru!” Hajime quickly scrambled down from his spot in the tree just as Tooru began to cry.

“It hurts!” he slurred, rolling onto his side to take some of the pressure off his back. “Want blood. Need—need to drink.” He wasn’t sure what he was saying at that point, only focused on the burning pain covering his entire backside. Usually, being half-vampire meant he could heal from the little things pretty quickly—minor cuts and scratches were nothing in the face of his regenerative abilities. However, there was the matter of not having eaten since many hours ago and falling two metres from a tree was definitely not the same as a paper cut.

Through his blurry vision, Tooru vaguely registered the confused expression on Hajime’s face before the scent of his blood assaulted his nose. He reached out blindly for his companion, feeling his canines elongate in his mouth.

“Tooru!” a familiar voice called.

_Mom?_

“Oh, Tooru, baby.”

He was lifted into his mother’s arms, though his senses couldn’t pick up much more beyond _hurts, need blood, so sweet please need to drink_. Distantly, he heard his mother apologizing to someone and a different voice replying in a tone that made him flinch. Then, he was being laid down on a soft surface—the couch in their living room?—and a mug was pressed to his lips.

“Drink, Tooru,” his mother’s gentle voice urged and he didn’t hesitate to obey. The warm liquid rushed down his throat and immediately began to soothe the pain in his back. His mind cleared as he finished the cup, the ache dulling to a mere throb.

When he opened his eyes, Tooru withered under his mother’s concerned and disapproving look as she knelt before him. “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

She ran her fingers through his brown locks. “Oh, no, sweetheart, I’m not upset. But you know you shouldn’t have put yourself in danger like that.”

“I know,” he said glumly. “But you’re not mad about what I said? To Hajime?”

“See, you already know it wasn’t a good idea.” His mother smiled, though it was tinged by sadness. “I’m not mad, Tooru, you couldn’t help it.”

Tooru paused for a moment, then asked, “Can I see Hajime again tomorrow?”

Her smile dimmed a fraction. “We’ll see, sweetheart. I’ll talk to his mom again and I’ll tell you soon, okay?”

With a small grin, Tooru bobbed his head.

(Hajime’s mother, as it turned out, wasn’t all too receptive of allowing a half-vampire child near her son.)

The first couple of days after the Tree Incident, as Tooru had begun to call it in his mind, he waited by the window for Hajime to come knocking on their door. He refused to take his eyes off even to eat his meals, and his father had to physically carry him over to the dining table. However, by the time the fourth day rolled around, the reality that Hajime wasn’t going to come finally sank in, and Tooru dejectedly dragged himself to the table for lunch. He picked at his food with disinterest, ignoring the glances of sympathy that his parents were sending, and returned to his room promptly after finishing his blood soup.

Tooru had lost Hajime after only a day, but it felt like much longer than that and hurt much deeper.

A week passed in the same manner, and Tooru was finally beginning to pick himself up and put Hajime behind him by playing with his alien ship again.

That was when the doorbell rang.

Tooru perked up, his hopeful eyes snapping to the door as all his progress of erasing the black-haired boy from his mind was reversed in an instant. “Mom!” he called, standing up from the carpet. “It’s Hajime!” Not that he’d checked, of course, but somehow, he just _knew_.

“Remember to check before you open the door, Tooru,” came his mother’s voice from upstairs, accompanied by her footsteps, but Tooru was already unlocking it.

He swung it open to reveal Hajime and his mother standing on the porch. “Hi, Iwaizumi-san! Hi, Hajime-chan!” He felt his mother’s hand on his shoulder.

“I told you—” Before Hajime could finish, his mother cut him off.

“Oikawa-san, I know we sort of started on the wrong foot last time,” she said, and Tooru’s mother chuckled drily. “But Hajime has missed Tooru-kun and I was hoping we could work this out so they can be friends again.”

His eyes widening, Tooru whispered, “You missed me?”

Hajime glanced away as a flush settled over his cheeks. “Shush.”

Tooru’s mother welcomed them inside and offered Hajime’s mother some coffee as Tooru dragged Hajime upstairs to his room, eager to show him his toy collection.

“Hey, Tooru,” Hajime started once they were assembling Lego on the floor, “why were you talking about blood that day? And why didn’t you come back?”

Tooru’s hands stopped moving and he avoided Hajime’s gaze. “It’s because I was hurt and—and I needed blood.” He mustered up the courage to look up for Hajime’s reaction as he said, “Because I’m a vampire.”

Hajime blinked once, twice, then laughed. “Nice try, Tooru. Vampires aren’t real.”

Tooru frowned indignantly. “Yes, they are, and I’m one of them. So’s my dad.”

Still, Hajime shook his head. “No, they’re not, Tooru. That’s like saying aliens are real too.”

“But they are!”

Hajime laughed and knocked over Tooru’s Lego tower (“Hey!”). “It’s okay if you don’t tell me, we can just play anyways.”

“Okay.”

Tooru was a little dejected that Hajime didn’t believe him, but his mood soon picked back up as they continued chatting and building, oblivious to the passing of time. Eventually, though, Tooru’s mother called them back down and told them it was time for Hajime to leave.

“You’ll come back, right?” Tooru asked.

Hajime looked every bit as sure as he sounded when he responded, “Of course.”

Later that night, Tooru told his mother about his conversation with Hajime. “Why didn’t he believe me?”

“Tooru, you know you and your dad are . . . uncommon,” she explained. “Most people don’t believe vampires exist.”

“Can I still be friends with him?”

“Of course you can, sweetheart.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Don’t think about it too much, everything will be fine. You’ll have plenty of chances to tell him in the future.”

Tooru nodded and bid her goodnight. He would tell Hajime when they grew up, he decided.

(If only it were that simple.)


	2. Age Ten

When Hajime and Tooru began fourth grade, now as inseparable as two friends could possibly be, they met a pair with just as strong of a bond. It was the beginning of a new school year and their classes had been shuffled once more, though the new groupings thankfully left them together for another term.

The seating plan somehow put Tooru directly behind Hajime, and resulted in their partnership in the first group discussion assigned by their Japanese language teacher. Two others also landed in their pod: Hanamaki Takahiro and Matsukawa Issei.

If you asked Tooru, he would tell you that his first impression was this: Hanamaki was observant and had a glorious sense of humour, and Matsukawa was his quieter but just as savage partner-in-crime. Naturally, they were a menace together.

Their brief association during the first class of the day ultimately resulted in two additional seats to be taken at their lunch table. Not that Tooru minded, of course, since they provided a delightfully amusing break from Hajime’s periodic seriousness and irritation, though he wasn’t sure how he would hide that one little detail about him being a vampire. They were certainly much less dense than Hajime.

Through sheer luck, Tooru managed for about two months before he was exposed—technically by his own decision, but also by the label on his bottle of “tomato juice,” of all things. He thought it kind of ironic, considering that was what he'd been using to protect his identity.

It was, however, his idea to be at Sendai City Gymnasium that day. Tooru had begged and pleaded with his three closest friends until they’d caved and agreed to watch the final games of the Miyagi Prefectural Qualifier tournament with him. Then, Tooru had wasted no time in making sure they all knew the time and place by heart and even convinced his mother that the four of them together would be responsible enough to be left alone for the matches.

Volleyball was something new to him still, and as someone who’d tried and given up soccer, basketball, and baseball in the past, Tooru didn’t have very high expectations. Sure, he’d studied the players’ general positions the previous night, and sure, he’d only made a great effort to bring their crew to the final day of the tournament. But that was just so he could prove a point to his father— _yes_ , he was making friends other than Hajime and _yes_ , he was hanging out with them outside of school.

Watching nearby high school students play volleyball was just a bonus.

—which was what he would have thought prior to the match, as he leaned over Matsukawa to laugh at Hanamaki’s joke. Truth was, as soon as the first serve soared across the court, Tooru was hooked.

He couldn’t look away.

Tooru’s eyes were unblinking, fixed solely on the figure at the far right corner of the gym, who was rolling the ball between his hands and preparing for his second serve. The first had penetrated his opponents’ defence spectacularly, hitting the gym floor with a loud _thwack_ before anyone had realized what happened. Six disbelieving gazes had turned from the spot of contact back to the server, now more determined than ever.

He threw the ball in the air—it spun higher and higher—and his feet carried him forward—one step, two, half—and then he was lifting off the ground and pulling his arm back and—

_Smack!_

The ball shot across the net, so fast that Tooru wondered if that was what a bullet was like, all speed and power and _will_. On the other side, a player with a slightly different jersey—the libero, he remembered from his research—launched himself towards the ball’s projected trajectory, but Tooru could see that his angle was off. He wouldn’t be able to save it.

(True to his prediction, the ball rebounded sideways towards the bench off the libero’s forearm.)

The game progressed, and Tooru saw the magic in every play. The strength behind the hitters’ spikes, the stability of the receives, the satisfaction in creating an impenetrable wall that could shut down the forceful and insistent attacks that rained down again and again, dig after dig.

A quick glance at his friends told him which players they were focusing on—the wing spikers, who demonstrated deep-rooted willpower and resolve. But for Tooru, the most entrancing was the setter.

The setter, who controlled the flow of each play with only his fingers and made split-second decisions based on constant analysis and observation— _where is their weak link? Who should I set to? What tempo? What formation? If this happens, what do I need to change to make it work?_

The setter, who was the centre of it all, his hands making contact with the ball without a single sound and releasing it barely a second later. The setter, who had the enormous responsibility of where that ball would land resting on his shoulders.

That was where Tooru wanted to be.

As he watched, Tooru realized this was different from soccer, or basketball, or anything to which he’d previously tried to commit his time. This was something he wanted desperately. He wanted to stand on that court with his teammates by his side. He wanted to be the one who could serve the ball straight into the centre of the opponent’s court, he wanted to play and win and set for his closest friends—for _Hajime_.

He wanted volleyball in his life.

Too soon, however, the match was over, with Aoba Johsai, as he later learned, winning three sets to one. Tooru filed out of the gymnasium with his friends and led them towards the parking lot where his mother would pick them up. He waited until they were far enough from most of the noise to chatter away about the game.

“And when he set the ball, did you see that?” He gestured wildly with his hands. “It was so graceful—like _s_ _woosh_ and it went up so high but then it was right in front of the spiker and he hit it and—”

“Okay, okay, Tooru, we get it,” Hajime interrupted. “We were all there, you know, we saw it happen.”

Tooru pouted. “But it was so _cool_! Hajime, we should start playing too. And Makki and Mattsun—we could be our own team together.”

Hajime gave him a soft knock on the head. “We don’t have enough people for a team, dummy. Besides, who would we even play against? It’s not like our school has a volleyball club.”

(He knew it was the wrong thing to say when Tooru’s eyes sparkled and his hands latched onto Hajime’s arm.)

“Then let’s start one,” Tooru countered enthusiastically. “We don’t have a volleyball club only because no one’s ever started one, so let’s do it. Right, Makki, Mattsun?”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” Hanamaki drawled playfully, “are you going to be our leader? Because if that’s the case, then I don’t think I want to, even if it sounds pretty cool. Issei?”

Matsukawa tilted his head a fraction. “I want to play, but Oikawa can’t lead on his own. Someone’ll end up getting hurt, and I don’t want it to be you, Takahiro.”

“I take offence to that!” Tooru protested.

Ignoring him, Matsukawa continued, “But if Iwaizumi agrees to do it, I’ll join.”

Tooru turned his attention back to Hajime now that he was the deciding factor and unleashed his highest level of puppy-eyed begging. “Please, Hajime? Pretty please?”

The conflict and annoyance was evident in Hajime’s eyes, but after a moment, he sighed and muttered, “The things I do for you. Fine, we’ll start the club, but only if our parents agree to it first.”

Brightening up instantly, Tooru nodded and eagerly went off on a tangent about their club, creating a plan on the spot for their practice times, potential recruits, what they should learn first. He hadn’t been so excited about something in ages and it was a feeling he hadn’t even known he’d missed. If this was what friendship with the three of them would be like—discovering common interests and trying new things he never would have touched on his own—Tooru never wanted them to leave his side.

Then, his stomach growled.

Tooru cut his rambling short and blushed. “Ah, it’s been a while since I last ate. Just gimme a second.” He slid his backpack off his shoulders and rummaged through until he found the bottle of blood his father had packed for him before he’d left. It was disguised as a bottle of tomato juice, with a colourful label that obscured most of the dark red that barely passed for a product of tomatoes.

He chuckled when he noticed the fingertip-shaped dents on the side of the plastic bottle. It seemed that his father’s superior strength had struck once again.

As Tooru uncapped the drink, he noticed Hanamaki staring at him oddly. “What?”

“Why do you drink so much red juice?” he asked. “At lunch, it’s pomegranate, and at snack time, it’s usually beets. Why do you like it so much?”

“It’s not—” Tooru started, but stopped abruptly. Should he tell them?

He’d wanted to since two weeks after their initial meeting; by then, Hanamaki and Matsukawa had integrated themselves seamlessly into Hajime’s and Tooru’s dynamic, and the latter pair into theirs. There had been instances he’d nearly slipped up but caught himself just in time to avoid saying something he might have regretted, but the truth was that Tooru really didn’t want to keep it a secret anymore.

A month ago, he’d asked his father if he could tell them what he was. Tooru wasn’t even completely sure why they were keeping the vampirism a secret, to be honest, he just knew that it was what they’d always done.

“It’s because some people will try to hurt us,” his father had explained patiently. “They don’t usually believe that vampires are real, but the ones who do mainly think that we’re dangerous and it scares them that we drink blood.”

“But it’s not like we drink _human_ blood,” Tooru had argued.

His father had shaken his head. “No, but they don’t know that. They only see what they want to think: we drink blood and we’re stronger, plus we don’t die easily, so that must mean we could hurt them. Even though you aren’t a full vampire, a lot of them will think the same things.”

Tooru had been frowning since the conversation began, but he had begun feeling even more upset. “That’s not fair. I just don’t wanna lie to my friends about what I eat or who I am anymore.”

His father’s eyes had softened as he’d patted his son’s shoulder gently, with as much control as he could wield. “I know, bud. I don’t think your friends are bad people, you know, and I don’t think they’ll want to hurt you. I’ll leave it up to you, okay? So if you feel like you trust them and you want them to know, then I’ll support you.”

They’d shared a smile before Tooru had bounded away to his room, a little more confident than he’d been earlier.

Now, with Hanamaki and Matsukawa both studying him quizzically, Tooru wondered again: Should he tell them? They were his friends, and he trusted that they wouldn’t hurt him.

“It’s not juice,” he found himself saying, his voice softening instinctively so that only his friends could hear. “It’s blood. I’m half-vampire so—so I need to drink blood.”

A beat passed, then another. Hanamaki was looking at him like suddenly, the universe made sense, and Matsukawa was studying the bottle in his hand.

Hajime, on the other hand, laughed. “Come on, Tooru, this didn’t work when we were seven and it’s not going to work now. You don’t have to lie if you don’t wanna talk about it. Vampires aren’t real.”

Tooru groaned in exasperation. _This whole conversation is because I don’t want to lie to any of you! How could you be so dense?_ “I’m not lying, I’m trying to tell you—”

His mother chose that instant to bring the car around to where they were standing by the curb. Hajime called sitting in the front and slid into the passenger seat, with the rest piling into the back.

As they walked around to the other side of the car, Matsukawa nudged Tooru’s hand. “I believe you, you know,” he said. “I can tell ’Hiro does too.”

Tooru blinked at him. “Why?”

Matsukawa pointed at his bottle. “The label says the tomato juice expired three years ago. I don’t think your parents would be that mean.”

Tooru laughed for a whole minute and refused to explain why to anyone who asked.


	3. Age Fifteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out to be longer than I planned haha, sorry for the delay. I just needed to cover everything I wanted to about this important segment of their lives together.

Over the years, they changed. It wasn’t Tooru and Hajime anymore. It was _Oikawa_ and _Iwa-chan_ , a nickname that Hajime had reluctantly accepted with a grimace after the first few times. Sometimes, still, Tooru could hear their conversation repeating in his head.

“We’re going to middle school, we’re not kids anymore,” Hajime had said. “We shouldn’t be calling each other by our first names. That’s a privilege for our future girlfriends.”

In a moment of courage (or lack of filter), Tooru had asked, “What if I don’t want a _girl_ friend?”

The surprise on Hajime’s had been almost laughable, if the atmosphere had allowed it. “You— You’re— Oh.”

Tooru had really almost laughed there, but he’d restrained himself. “Yeah.”

“Uh. Good for you, I guess? I mean—it doesn’t change anything.” Hajime had averted his gaze there and rubbed the back of his neck, his words every bit as choppy and awkward as a twelve-year-old would have sounded when talking about sexuality.

Tooru had found it difficult not to chuckle at Hajime’s attempt. “I know, Hajime.” He hadn’t noticed that he’d thrown Hajime’s earlier request out the window until much later, but his best friend hadn’t chastised him for it either. “You can’t get rid of me so easily.”

Hajime had huffed out a laugh, rolling his eyes. “I’ve tried for five years and it hasn’t worked.” Then, his tone had turned puzzled. “Wait, but— Didn’t you date Inoue Reiko last year? And you were always flirting with the girls who came by the club room.”

“It’s not that simple.” Tooru had tried to explain the information he’d found after hours of research when he’d first begun feeling that he was a little different from his friends, but Hajime’s expression only seemed more confused as he continued. Eventually, Tooru had given up and sighed. “Just. Forget it. It’s whatever.”

“Okay, Tooru—Oikawa,” he’d amended, and Tooru had felt a sharp pain spreading in his chest that had made him feel nauseous and sick.

“Iwaizumi,” Tooru had tested, and had nearly cringed at how _wrong_ it seemed—Hajime had always been _Hajime_ , and he would never be anything else. “It’s too long,” he’d said to cover up the twist in his stomach. “Iwaizumi . . . Iwa . . . Iwa-chan!” Tooru had beamed. “That sounds much better, don’t you think, _Iwa-chan_?”

Hajime had stared at him in horror. “No, absolutely not. To—Oikawa, if you ever say that again—”

But it had been too late. Tooru had already started singing, “Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan,” as he skipped away from Hajime’s attempts to stop him.

It wasn’t perfect, Tooru knew. _Iwa-chan_ would never be _Hajime_ , and Tooru would never be able to express as much as he wanted to in the shortened version of Hajime’s last name, not like he had when they were kids. At the very least, however, _Iwa-chan_ was Tooru’s. Hajime would adapt to it eventually, and he might give Tooru a look once in a while, but he wouldn’t object to it any longer when it was from Tooru’s lips. And he would never allow anyone else to call him something so ridiculous—Tooru knew that for sure.

So he accepted it. They may not have been Tooru and Hajime anymore, but they were Oikawa and Iwa-chan, and that was almost— _almost_ —good enough.

Then, there was Kageyama Tobio.

It was their third year of middle school and Tooru couldn’t have wished for anything more. He was captain and setter of the volleyball team, he had Hajime as his ace and Hanamaki and Matsukawa playing at his side. It was all that he could have wanted, and nearly all that he had dreamed to achieve since the first Aoba Johsai game he’d watched with his friends in the Sendai City Gymnasium.

Tooru knew what he wanted next: to stand proudly on the court with Seijoh’s teal number one adorning his back as he serves and sets and watches the fruit of all his labours. (That probably wouldn’t come until his third year of high school, but he was close. So, so close, only three years away, and with all his determination, there would be nothing that could stop him.)

Kageyama Tobio was a factor for which Tooru had not thought to account. It was volleyball tryouts—the first that he would command as captain—and Tooru was surveying the applicants with a critical eye. He knew what to look for, partially because of his own experience but also due to hours of pestering his previous captain until he agreed to mentor him in the art of leading the team. (Tooru was confident in his abilities, but he could still recognize when someone was better, and he took advantage of that frequently.)

But Kageyama was different.

Tooru knew right away that the first-year was a genius with endless potential, if only he learned how to access it. He didn’t need to listen in on the conversation between the coach and assistant coach to know exactly what was planned for the young setter, and exactly what that would mean for Tooru—never mind that he was captain, or starting setter for now. Kageyama had potential and talent that Tooru needed many times the amount of practice to match, once the first-year discovered how far he could go.

It bothered Tooru more than he’d like to admit.

Hajime smacked him hard on the head when Tooru admitted his thoughts.

“Iwa-chan,” he whined, rubbing the space where Hajime had hit him, “you can’t just hurt me like that, you’ll mess up my hair! Besides, what if I get a concussion because you can’t control your strength?”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Hajime scolded. “And stop worrying about Kageyama. Just practice like you always do and we’ll support you on the court.”

“But he’ll be better than me soon,” Tooru protested. “If I want to keep my place, I have to—”

Hajime interrupted, “Stop undermining your abilities, Idiotkawa. Kageyama still has a lot to learn about playing with the team, never mind improving as a setter. Besides, the setter isn’t the only one who matters.”

“But the rest of you are just brutes, and I’m the smart and pretty one who handles the strategy,” Tooru joked, then laughed as he skipped out of Hajime’s reach. He knew it wasn’t true, the rest of the team contributed much more than he gave them credit for on a regular basis, but he also knew Hajime was underestimating Kageyama. The setter may not be the most important, but to Tooru, nothing was worse than the prospect of being replaced by a first-year.

Naturally, he didn’t listen to his best friend’s counsel.

A few weeks into the school year saw Tooru extending his personal practice time beyond his usual half hour after everyone else had left the gym. It was barely noticeable at first, increasing by increments of ten minutes every couple days or so. However, as Kageyama was given more time to play during practices, Tooru’s internal bitterness and jealousy at the young setter’s talent grew like a weed.

It wasn’t fair that Tooru had to practice much harder to achieve the same results. It wasn’t fair that what Tooru valued the most in the world, what he’d worked towards for years, was so easily threatened by this—this _child_.

But life wasn’t fair, and Tooru knew it. So he practiced.

Eventually, Hajime commented on his changing habits at the end of practice one afternoon.

“Come on, Oikawa, it’s time to go,” Hajime called as he re-entered the gym from the locker room.

Tooru readied his stance for a jump serve. “Not now, Iwa-chan, I’m busy.” He took a deep breath, paused, then threw the ball into the air, his body movements following naturally. The ball landed with a satisfying thud in the middle of the opposite court, but Tooru frowned. He’d been aiming for the corner.

He reached for another ball, but his hands grasped only air. Tooru frowned as he saw Hajime wheeling the cart away. “Hey, I’m still practicing,” he protested, but Hajime ignored him and gathered the balls that Tooru had hit to the other side back into the cart. “Iwa-chan!”

Hajime whirled around. “You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep going like this. Don’t think I haven’t noticed you staying later and later after practice, it’s not good for you. You’ll wear yourself out, and then what’re we gonna do? What do you think the coach will do if you get hurt?”

Tooru clenched his fists at the insinuation that he would be replaced. “You don’t get it, Iwa-chan. I have to be better, or I’ll lose my place—and you know I can’t let that happen.” Hajime opened his mouth as if to argue, but Tooru plowed on, “Besides, Iwa-chan doesn’t have a genius wing spiker as competition, and Makki is already a starter so it’s not like you have to worry about him. All you guys have to do is hit the ball over the net anyways. You might be able to put volleyball second place, but I can’t. This is my _life_.”

For a moment, Hajime didn’t speak. Then, in a forcibly steady voice, he asked, “So you’ll put improving above everything else?” When Tooru nodded, he said, “I’ll tell you what the difference is between us. You’ll stop at nothing to be the best, but volleyball isn’t just about winning for me. I’ll always prioritize our friends, our teammates, _you_. The collective health of the team is just as important as playing on the court, and if being better means compromising that, then I’m not willing to risk it.”

Tooru gaped as he processed his words, his heart pounding involuntarily in his chest. Until then, he’d never thought of anything but volleyball, while Hajime—Hajime had been thinking of _him_. That level of regard was something Tooru hadn’t expected, but something he relished in with pride.

Still, Tooru couldn’t let go of what he loved. And if that meant placating Hajime for a day so he could return for extra practice next time, then that was what he would do.

“Okay,” Tooru said. “Okay. You’re right. Let’s go home.”

The look of surprise on Hajime’s face was almost comical, but Tooru wasn’t in the mood to laugh. They walked back in silence, and although it was clear that Hajime was thankful he hadn’t put up a fight, his acquiescence had certainly caused more worry to fester in his best friend’s chest.

Hajime managed to make Tooru leave practice on time for a week, and every time the latter tried to protest, he remembered their conversation and the words lodged themselves in his throat. But when Kageyama was subbed in to play during a practice game halfway through the first set, Tooru knew that he had to be better.

“You don’t understand,” he told Hajime when he’d tried to convince Tooru that it didn’t mean anything, that it was only a practice game and the coaches were just looking for a feel of Kageyama’s talent. “It’s just a practice game for now, but what about when the tournaments come around?”

After that, Tooru’s mind was set, and not even Hajime, Hanamaki, and Matsukawa together could persuade him otherwise. His practice times extended to an hour beyond the others, then an hour and a half. Sometimes, he would glance out the windows high up near the gym ceiling and realize with a start that it was already dark outside. He couldn’t feel time passing when he practiced jump serve after jump serve, threw the ball up for himself and met it halfway to set it to an invisible spiker (a Hajime of his own creation).

Hajime started pestering him about the bags under his eyes and the sharp frustration in his voice instead of teasing about his love for milk bread and obsession with aliens. Tooru countered it by sprinting out of class before Hajime could react and acting natural at practice knowing that his best friend wouldn’t make a scene there. He even lied to his parents, saying that he was at Hajime’s house after practice instead of staying extra late. It was a working plan, if only not a very good one.

(He should’ve known that things wouldn’t work out for him.)

It was a Thursday night when Tooru practiced straight through the two-hour alarm he’d set for himself, _again_. He’d attempted regulating himself after Hajime’s repeated requests, but sometimes, he wouldn’t even hear the obnoxious alarm ringing from his phone, even after setting it to repeat every five minutes for the first twenty. It hadn’t been a big deal before, but he was actually supposed to be at Hajime’s house about half an hour after his alarm went, so accidentally ignoring it meant, of course, that he was irrevocably tardy.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

Tooru hadn’t had a good day. His serves had been off during team practice, so much so that Kageyama had come up to him and asked whether he was all right—and what a blow on his pride that had been. He was making up for it with an extra vigorous practice session after everyone else had gone, repeating the motions over and over.

As the afternoon dragged into evening, however, Tooru only found himself more irritated. He couldn’t aim properly and his strength was off, sometimes hitting the ball all the way to the far wall—a mistake he hadn’t made since his first year of middle school.

It was the impatience that he would blame for launching himself into the air prematurely the next time he tried.

Tooru couldn’t describe the excruciating pain he felt when his leg crumpled beneath him. It was like being on fire and yet encased in ice at the same time, the searing agony shooting up to the rest of his body as he curled in on himself. Whimpers and small cries for help pushed past his lips, unbidden, and he could feel the heat of tears on his cheeks.

_Help me please make it stop HajimeHajimeHajime please help me why does it hurt so much? I should be healing, there shouldn’t be so much pain, whywhywhy—_

Distantly, at the back of his mind, Tooru knew why. He’d neglected to drink blood since lunchtime, and he hadn’t even finished all that he should’ve. The hunger that was making itself known in his stomach was also weakening his healing abilities and amplifying his discomfort. He wasn’t deprived enough to start drinking from any human who happened to pass by, but enough that it felt like he could eat an entire feast.

“Hajime,” he sobbed, though he knew there would be no answer. “Hajime, please.”

But then, he was there.

Familiar arms wrapped around him, pulling him upright. Tooru yelped as his knee was jostled in the movement, blinking back the moisture in his eyes as his vision focused and suddenly full of _Hajime_.

“Hey, Oikawa, can you hear me?” Hajime’s voice was concerned, almost desperate. “Come on, tell me, where does it hurt?”

“My—my knee,” Tooru managed through hiccups and gritted teeth. “Right side.”

“Okay. Okay, um. I’m going to take a look, all right?” Hajime’s hands hovered over his leg. “Tell me how much it hurts?”

But Tooru shook his head, knowing the pain would subside quickly after he satisfies his craving for blood. “I’m fine, I’m fine, just. Pass me my bag, Ha—Iwa-chan?” Hajime gave him an odd look. “Please.”

He complied, jogging across the court for Tooru’s duffel bag. As soon as it was in his hands, Tooru dug through the contents until his fingers wrapped around a familiar bottle. He pulled it out and downed the entire drink without stopping, shutting his eyes as his body began to repair his injury.

Hajime was staring down at him in worry and bewilderment when he opened his eyes. “You look . . . better. Does tomato juice always have that effect on you?”

Tooru blinked. “What—” Abruptly, he remembered that his blood bottle was still decorated with its original tomato juice label and laughed. “No. _No_ , Iwa-chan, oh my God. It’s blood. _Blood_. I’m a vampire—well, half-vampire, but close enough—so it helps me heal. See? All better.” He tried to move his knee as proof and winced when he realized it hadn’t fully healed up yet.

Apparently, Hajime took that as a sign that he was joking yet again. “Uh-huh. All right, I’m carrying you back.”

“What?” Tooru snapped his head towards him. “No, I’m fine. I can walk just fine, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime was already lowering himself in front of Tooru. “Hold on tight, okay? I don’t want to accidentally hit your knee because you’re slipping off. And grab your bag too.”

Realizing that there was no way out of this, Tooru obeyed and hoisted himself onto Hajime’s back, his right hand clutching the duffel. “You don’t have to do this, you know,” he said quietly.

“I know,” came Hajime’s reply as he stood and began to walk. “Idiot.”

There and then, Tooru knew what he’d missed all this time, why saying that volleyball was first and foremost in his life had left a weird aftertaste in his mouth. In his mind, it had been true—he hadn’t believed anything could take priority over volleyball. Looking back, though, if anything could, it would be Hajime.

It had always been Hajime; Tooru just hadn’t realized it. And, _oh_ , what a fool he’d been to not have noticed—when had Hajime become so important to him? Was it the last couple years, or earlier? Back in elementary school, when volleyball had first taken over their lives, or the early years when they’d met?

In a sense, when it had happened didn’t matter. Tooru knew how it was now—it would only ever be Hajime. No one else would ever be as kind, or as lenient towards his attitude. No one else would keep him in check and take care of him like Hajime. Certainly no one else would ever be as close to Tooru as Hajime was—he wouldn’t let them.

Oikawa Tooru was in love with Iwaizumi Hajime.

(Now if only he could finally believe Tooru about being half-vampire . . .)

 

\---

 

“How did you know to come find me anyways?” Tooru asked, sometime when they were halfway home.

“You never showed up at my house,” Hajime grunted, his voice betraying his discomfort of having Tooru’s weight on his back. “I knew you had to be at the gym for sure.” He paused and Tooru held his breath, thinking about all the things he could say to make Hajime a little less angry and lessen the scolding. But what came out of Hajime’s mouth was, “Never do that again, okay? Promise me.”

Tooru smiled against the back of Hajime’s neck. “I promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next few updates are going to be slower, since school is just piling more and more assignments on top of my current workload.


	4. Age Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I told myself I'd finish this over winter break, but life and projects swept me away (and now I'm just procrastinating studying for exams lol).
> 
> Enjoy!

Tooru supposed that Hajime’s new tomato juice habit was his fault, despite how he complained to Hanamaki about it. Well, ‘habit’ may not be the best way to put it—it wasn’t that Hajime was consuming the tomato juice himself, but more that he’d taken to anonymously leaving canned tomato juice (from the vending machine) in Tooru’s locker. They appeared a few times a month, with no particular pattern, which was undoubtedly Hajime trying to confuse Tooru so that he wouldn’t be discovered. But Hajime was as obvious as he was dense, and it had taken Tooru less than a day upon first receiving it to figure out the sender’s identity.

It was a very recent development, only having begun at the start of their third year of high school. Tooru couldn’t figure out for the life of him what had compelled Hajime to believe he needed that much tomato juice in addition to his “usual.” He’d been “drinking” it for as long as he’d been in school, so he couldn’t understand what made this year so special that Hajime developed this new hobby.

The more important issue was this: Tooru hated tomato juice.

An unfortunate incident in his childhood that involved mistakenly gulping down half a bottle of tomato juice (he'd thought it was blood, okay?) and having his taste buds assaulted by the sourness had caused Tooru to swear off the awful drink for the rest of his life. He’d tried to ask his parents to stop giving him blood in tomato juice bottles for a while too, but his mother had argued that it was a better cover than cranberry or pomegranate (and that was true). So Tooru begrudgingly accepted that people would see him as some kind of tomato juice lover for the sake of having blood to drink.

Hajime, however, stubbornly refused to believe that the red beverages Tooru carried around were all just animal blood, and continued his ritual of gifting vending machine tomato juice throughout the entire first semester. That is, until his three friends cornered him one afternoon in the locker room after practice.

The room was nearly empty, save for the four of them, as everyone had been eager to return home and escape the summer heat. Tooru was just walking in from the gym when he heard Hanamaki mentioning the subject to his best friend.

“Iwaizumi, man, you’ve got to stop,” Hanamaki’s voice said as Tooru rounded the corner. “Any more and you’re gonna give Oikawa tomato poisoning.”

Hajime, of course, began by vehemently denying that he had anything to do with Tooru’s anonymous benefactor. “What are you— I don’t— _tomato poisoning_?” he sputtered. “What are you talking about?”

Hanamaki slung an arm around Hajime’s shoulders, glanced at Tooru’s slow approach towards them, and said with a teasing lilt, “Aw, don’t pretend you haven’t been leaving little canned gifts in Oikawa’s locker since the school year started. He has a vendetta against real tomato juice though, so you might wanna lessen up a bit.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” There was a blush creeping up Hajime’s neck towards his cheeks.

Tooru bounded into their view. “Iwa-chan, you’re really not subtle. I knew it was you the whole time.”

“Then why didn’t you say anything about it, Trashykawa?” Hajime growled, apparently having given up on protecting his not-so-secret activities. “And you drink tomato juice all the time, what’s the problem?”

Tooru groaned, slammed his head into a locker door, and waved a hand in Hanamaki and Matsukawa’s general direction, too exasperated to repeat the explanation himself. The troublesome duo, however, had their own ideas.

“Well,” Hanamaki drawled with a wicked grin, “I suppose no one told you about how _special_ his usual drinks are. Besides, tomato juice is a terrible way to confess your feelings to someone, especially your best friend.”

_Slam!_

Tooru whirled around, his hand practically digging into the metal door, and gaped at Hanamaki’s self-satisfied expression. “Makki!” He glanced desperately to Matsukawa, hoping he would find some assistance in their more sensible friend, but the latter was smiling mischievously, obviously fully supporting Hanamaki’s schemes.

“Hanamaki, you ass, I was not _confessing_ ,” Hajime grumbled as he shoved his T-shirt over his head quickly and glared at Hanamaki with annoyance. “I was trying to be a good friend. And Oikawa, you should’ve said something if you didn’t want the juice cans.”

Tooru huffed with mock irritation, though his cheeks were still flushed from Hanamaki’s insinuation. “Iwa-chan, I drink enough tomato juice in a day to not need any extra, you should know that—but I’m glad you love me enough to spend all that money. Next time, you can just buy me milk bread instead.” He laughed as Hajime redirected his disapproval towards him. “Come on, let’s go home, Makki and Mattsun are being mean.”

Hajime sighed, rolled his eyes, and began walking to the door without a word. Tooru snatched his bag and followed, though his movements were unhurried—he knew that Hajime would never leave without him.

As they were leaving, Tooru caught Hanamaki wiggling his eyebrows suggestively as he said, “Don’t do anything Issei and I wouldn’t do, kids.”

“Which is to say, be as adventurous and bold as you can, young grasshoppers,” Matsukawa added, adopting a tone of false wisdom. “Don’t let grandpa Iwaizumi spoil all the fun before you can even get to it.”

Tooru grinned and flashed them his signature peace sign pose with a wink behind Hajime’s back. He thought he’d done well in not being seen by Hajime until the latter turned to him on the sidewalk and said,

“You shouldn’t encourage them, they’ll only get worse.”

Tooru pouted. “Don’t be a killjoy, Iwa-chan. And how did you even see that? It’s like you have eyes on the back of your head.”

“I just know you, idiot.” There was a nearly imperceptible fondness in his voice that made Tooru smile all over again. “By the way, what do you think of Hanamaki’s celebration plans after qualifiers?”

Tooru blinked in surprise at the sudden change of topic. “What plans? It’s only, like, August. Qualifiers are in October.” Then he thought about what he knew of his pink-haired friend. “Never mind, that’s totally a Makki thing to do—he’s being pretty optimistic about this, considering . . .” He frowned. Karasuno and Shiratorizawa were unpleasant topics of thought. “I can’t believe you heard about it before me, Iwa-chan,” he whined in an effort to lighten the mood. “I’m supposed to be the all-informed one.”

“Maybe if you actually bothered to listen to us a bit more at lunch instead of indulging your fangirls, you’d know, Trashykawa.”

“Ooh, is that jealousy I hear?” Tooru glanced over to find his best friend resolutely avoiding his gaze, but the tips of his ears were unmistakably red. “Don’t worry, I’m all yours, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like, “And don’t you forget about it,” and Tooru whipped his head around in shock.

“What?” he asked, his voice coming out strangled and weak.

“I said, don’t forget it’s your fault for not listening when Hanamaki asks you if the stuff you agreed to help plan is done.” Hajime grinned and sped up as Tooru processed his words.

His first thought was, _That definitely wasn’t what you said_ , but when Hajime’s reply had finally sunken into his brain, he chased after him. “Wait, Iwa-chan! What part did I agree to plan? Food? Location? _Iwa-chan!_ ”

(As it turned out, Hajime had tricked him with his expression of faux innocence and ordinary, Hajime-like behaviour—when had he become so sneaky?)

Some odd weeks later, when Hanamaki brought up the celebration— “Gotta have faith that we’ll beat them all and finally go to nationals, captain” —Tooru inquired about his supposedly appointed role. He realized only a second too late that he’d been deceived, as Hanamaki had jumped on the opportunity to appoint Tooru in charge of paying for the meal. After he’d teased Tooru about his fans, of course.

So Tooru was stuck with the chore of somehow obtaining enough money to feed twenty hungry teenagers, frustrated with his schoolwork, working his butt off during practice, and didn’t bother to pay another thought to anything else. The final round of qualifiers for the Spring High Tournament were, of course, his main concern, after having lost his chance at nationals earlier in the year to Shiratorizawa (again). Besides, their close call with Karasuno last time had only indicated that Tooru and his team needed to work harder than ever to earn their spot.

Naturally, when it was barely two weeks from the finals, his teammates began to fall into a state of determination, agitation, and doubt. Tooru, of course, was no exception to this mindset.

“Do you think we’ll win, Iwa-chan?” he asked Hajime as they sat on the floor of Tooru’s room with their homework piled in front of them. “We’re gonna end up playing Karasuno at some point, and Kageyama’s different now, we’ve seen that, and they’ll be stronger than last time and he’s a genius when I’m not, even if I’m obviously smarter and prettier—”

“Oikawa,” Hajime cut in, “you’re rambling.”

“Iwa-chan, aren’t you at least a little bit worried?”

Hajime glanced up at him over his textbook and put down his pencil. “You’re right, they’ve gotten better. But it’s not like we’ve been sitting around on our butts all day either. We just have to keep practicing and fight them with all we’ve got.”

With a chuckle that masked just how much his heart was pounding in his chest at Hajime’s words, Tooru flicked his eraser at his best friend. “You’re so cheesy, Iwa-chan.”

Hajime scowled and turned back to his notebook.

 

\---

 

Tooru would like to say that he handled defeat well, but anyone who had known him for more than ten minutes could tell it wasn’t true. It came as a surprise to no one when he avoided everything and everyone immediately following their loss to Karasuno in the Spring High Qualifiers. He didn’t show it while they were still on the court, bowing to the audience—he was still their captain, though not for much longer, and he needed to support his team in that moment. But in the confines of his room, his demons roamed free.

For Tooru, the weight of their defeat hit him in stages. There was no denial or refusal to accept what was undoubtedly the truth, but his body somehow subconsciously eased him into it.

First, it was the physical facts: the imbalance of the scoreboard, the loss on his teammates’ expressions, the cheering that rang out from the opposite side of the court—the wrong side. Hajime’s clenched fists and tearful face. Tooru’s own hand on his ace’s back, as if imprinting the number four into his skin.

Then came the implications for the future: Aoba Johsai would once again be unable to play at Nationals—would not even face Shiratorizawa for one final time before the third-years graduate. This was the closing of Tooru’s high school volleyball career, and it ended with the reappearance of his middle school struggles against Kageyama’s genius.

With that thought came the final stage: why couldn’t he have done more? Why couldn’t he have made one more service ace, or a better decision that could have led to an unblocked spike? Why couldn’t he have come up with better sets for their spikers—for Hajime? Why couldn’t he have been naturally talented like Kageyama?

Why couldn’t he have received Hinata’s last spike?

But the question of _why_ was a dangerous path to pursue, and while Tooru knew his competitiveness was stronger than most, he wasn’t exactly aiming to be self-destructive. Kageyama was a genius and Tooru was simply born with the shorter end of the stick in comparison. He could train as much as he dared, but in the end, he couldn’t defeat someone with actual talent who had trained just as hard.

Dusk was beginning to fade into night when Tooru glanced out his window, and he realized with a start that he’d missed dinner. His parents were not due home until at least another hour later, however, so he did what any other saddened teenager would have done. Well, any other saddened, half-vampire teenager in need of space and deep internal thought. He shrugged on a light jacket, grabbed a packet of blood, and took a walk.

If he happened to accidentally sit on the steps of Aoba Johsai’s gymnasium for the next five hours, turning all his ‘why’s into ‘how’s, no one needed to know.

Tooru wasn’t sure how, but he ended up at the Sekisui Heim Super Arena the following day, watching Karasuno’s game against Shiratorizawa. He’d told his teammates—told Hajime—that he wouldn’t go no matter what, but there he was, sitting high above the court in the middle of a deserted section. He’d even worn his glasses to decrease his recognizability (though admittedly, nothing could cover up his greatness after all).

And there, Hajime found him.

“Oh. You’re here too.”

Tooru started and hugged his knees a little tighter to his chest. _Crap!_ Before he could reply with some half-hearted excuse, Hajime jumped over the seats and continued, in a slightly self-satisfied tone, “You said you weren’t going to come because it’d piss you off, no matter who won.”

For the slightest moment, Tooru’s mind blanked as he tried desperately to come up with an appropriate response. He relaxed his position and leaned back into his chair. “No matter which side wins,” he said, allowing his usual airs to slip into his voice, “I’m still gonna be able to see the other team’s faces when they lose.”

Hajime didn’t look at him, only shoved his hands into his pockets. “You really are a piece of crap.”

(Tooru didn’t wince.)

“I don’t have time to sit around feeling sorry for myself.” He’d done that enough last night.

Hajime finally sat down, but Tooru couldn’t help noticing the space he’d left between them. “I see their number 10 is moving around a lot, like always.”

“He’s definitely some kind of monster,” Tooru agreed as the whistle sounded, though half his focus was on the gaping distance (of a single chair) between himself and Hajime. He trained his eyes on Kageyama’s back. “But it sure must be rough having to stick around that monster.”

All in all, Tooru hadn’t actually expected Karasuno to win. He knew they had the potential, of course, but Ushijima Wakatoshi and his team had been a barrier between Tooru and nationals for so long that he’d begun to think there was next to nothing that could ever overcome it. Of course it would be Kageyama and his shrimpy partner. (How much Tooru wished for that to be himself and Hajime, embraced by all their teammates as Shiratorizawa despaired on the other side of the court.)

“Come on, let’s go home.” Tooru ushered Hajime towards the exit, taking care not to betray his anguish that Karasuno—that _Kageyama_ —had accomplished what Seijoh couldn’t. “I’d rather die than see the awards ceremony.”

“You really are a crappy guy.” But Hajime’s voice held comfort in itself, and Tooru smiled anyways.

The next day, when they were due back at school, Tooru woke up an hour before his alarm and only three hours after his mind had quieted down enough for him to fall into slumber. Not that his sleep schedule mattered much to his well-being—half-vampires had a better tolerance for fatigue than humans. Despite that, Tooru could feel that he wasn’t in the mood for interaction today, and especially not with his teammates.

Which was why he left the house a whole hour before Hajime was expected to show up (because he knew that Hajime would be there half an hour early just in case, but he wouldn’t have expected Tooru to wake up before seven). Then, he proceeded to avoid the H-and-M (Hanamaki and Matsukawa) team’s attempts to corner him during lunch, instead finding a hidden corner in a distant stairwell (it was across the school, okay?) to continue his early-morning thoughts.

Karasuno’s victory had plagued his mind all of the previous night, and Tooru hadn’t been able to stop himself from analyzing every strategy, every play that had allowed them to turn the tables. Aoba Johsai’s team was different, he knew, but there must have been something they could use—something from which Tooru could derive a weapon for those carrying on the third-years’ legacy. He already knew who would be captain after him, of course; there was only one obvious choice. Everyone still had so much potential to grow, and Tooru wanted to draw out as much of that as he could before he graduated. Once he did, Yahaba would have to carry the same weight on his shoulders.

The coach had decided to give them the week off to rest, though he’d ensured they would redouble their efforts once they were back. It made the whole ‘avoid everyone at any cost’ thing much, much easier for Tooru.

His routine continued over the next few days, though somewhere in the middle, his few, dwindling hours of sleep reduced to none. He was careful not to let his parents notice—which wasn’t as hard as he’d expected, since his mother worked odd hours as a nurse and his father had left on a fortunately (or unfortunately) timed business trip around the third day of Tooru’s new system.

But half-vampire or not, it was only a matter of time before his stealth failed him.

Thus was the case when Hajime rang Tooru’s doorbell, stormed past him through the doorway before the latter could say anything otherwise, and dragged Tooru up the stairs to his room.

“You need to sleep,” Hajime hissed as he practically threw Tooru onto the bed. Tooru didn’t protest, if only for the sole reason that Hajime became _scary_ when he was mad. “When was the last time you had actually slept for the whole night?”

Tooru averted his eyes sheepishly. “Um . . .” His response was interrupted by a yawn, effectively punctuating the issue, and when he glanced back at Hajime, his best friend was staring at him with the most unimpressed and disapproving expression possible. “Vampires don’t need as much sleep?” Tooru tried, raising his hands in a ‘what else can I say’ shrug.

“You’re not a vampire and you need to sleep,” Hajime deadpanned. He approached the bed and Tooru instinctively slunk away under his glare, giving him just what he needed to tuck the blankets over Tooru’s legs and torso.

“Hey, at least let me . . . at least . . .” _—let me change first_ , Tooru wanted to say, but his fatigue from the previous days finally caught up to him as his head hit the pillow and he succumbed to slumber.

It was only when he awoke and found Hajime sitting on the floor of his bedroom, pencil in mouth and his eyebrows scrunched up in frustration, that Tooru realized what he’d said. _Vampires don’t need as much sleep_ —which was true, but probably not the most convincing argument at the time. Or rather, definitely not, considering Hajime hadn’t believed him about either items in the phrase.

“Wha’ time issit?” Tooru mumbled, rubbing his eyes.

Hajime dropped his pencil into his hand. “Oh, you’re awake. It is . . .” He checked his watch. “Eight-thirty now. You missed dinner, by the way. I ordered pizza, it’s on the counter downstairs if you want any. Also, your mom’s back, but she crashed down the hall after checking on you.”

Nodding, Tooru thanked him and made his way to the bathroom, his head feeling noticeably more clear and his mind more aware than it had been for days. He splashed some water over his face and groaned when he saw the eyebags that hadn’t diminished in the least from his nap. _Guess you can’t make up for days without sleep in a few hours_.

When he came back out, Hajime was packing up his work. “I should probably go soon,” he said as Tooru frowned. “It’s getting late.”

“Stay over.” The words exited Tooru’s mouth before he had a chance to hold them back. Hajime raised his eyes to him in question. He shrugged. “You have all your stuff anyways. Besides, we haven’t had a sleepover in a while.” The _I miss you_ went unsaid, but they both recognized its presence.

Slowly, Hajime nodded. “All right, but I expect you to get some more sleep tonight. And don’t think making vampire jokes is going to do anything for you.”

Tooru had just stepped out the doorway, but he popped his head back in and winked. “It’s not a joke if it’s true!”

There was a _thud_ as Hajime’s eraser hit the door where Tooru’s head had been just a moment prior. Tooru couldn’t help but laugh all the way down the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really sure when the next update will be (I'm the write-and-post-as-I-go type) but I'll try to get it done soon! It might take until March break before I can legitimately sit down and finish it but . . . I'll do my best not to keep you guys waiting for long :)


	5. Age Twenty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ahhhh it's been so longggg. I started this chapter almost immediately after finishing the last one and told myself I'd finish this at the start of March break at latest for sure, but alas...
> 
> In any case, it's here now! Enjoy :)

The thing about being best friends for most of your life and always attending the same school, even if you’d ended up in different classes once or twice, was that it made high school graduation much, much more difficult. Like, an insane amount. Tooru shuddered just thinking back to the tears and snot and always having someone’s arm around his shoulders and the obscene amount of promises to text or call or Skype. Which he’d ended up doing about two hours into his first night at the dorm.

“Iwa-chan, you don’t understand,” he’d lamented as he’d lain on the bed on his stomach in full darkness, save for the brightness of his laptop that had rested on his pillow. “I won’t be able to survive a week with him, never mind the whole _year_. It’s only the first day and he already has his socks lying on the floor!”

From the other side of the room, Kuroo had called, “I can hear you, Oikawa, and I know you’re just jealous I was the better captain.” Tooru had known he was smirking in that predatory way of his just from his voice.

“You wish,” Tooru had shot back, turning away from the webcam briefly. When he’d looked back at the screen, Hajime had been trying and failing to contain his laughter. “Iwa-chan, it’s not funny! I’m not going to survive, and if I die, make sure you don’t give him the satisfaction of being honoured on my tombstone.”

“What do you want me to say it was, ‘death by idiocy’?”

Tooru had gasped exaggeratedly. “Rude. I’m not talking to you anymore, Iwa-chan. This is me ignoring your brutish nature and hereby uninviting you permanently from my greatness until you grovel for forgiveness.”

Hajime had snorted then, shaking his head. “Like I’d want to suffer your stupidity for extended periods of time anyways. It’s Kuroo that I feel bad for, he’s gotta put up with you for the whole year.”

“Thanks, bro,” had been Kuroo’s reply.

Tooru had huffed with no small amount of indignation. “No. You’re not allowed to do this, you can’t get all buddy-buddy with my roommate and team up on me, Iwa-chan, it’s against the rules. And _you_ ” —he’d turned to Kuroo, pointing a finger at him though the darkness minimized its effect— “don’t even try to corrupt my Iwa-chan, I won’t let you.”

“Ooh, someone’s possessive.” Tooru could practically imagine Kuroo wiggling his eyebrows with obvious suggestive intent.

His face had heated up and he’d nearly chucked his pillow in his roommate’s general direction before he’d remembered his laptop was on top of it. Tooru had been glad for the cover of darkness that had hidden his blush from Hajime, but he was sure his silence had been just as telling.

Of course, Hajime, being the dense idiot which Tooru had no qualms about calling him, hadn’t picked up the very obvious hint that there was something more Tooru wanted between them than friendship. It had been a point in Tooru’s favour, thankfully, but he still hated how easily Kuroo had been able to pinpoint his feelings. The same ones he had so successfully hidden from Hajime for years.

After that, Tooru attempted to schedule all following calls during times Kuroo was either attending a class or hanging out with his other friends, though it didn’t always work out. So he endured Kuroo’s teasing, and distracted himself by teasing Hajime in return about all that he’d learned from his other sources (namely, the previous Karasuno captain, Sawamura Daichi—they’d become friends through Kuroo, and Sawamura conveniently shared a class with Hajime).

It was one such time when he wasn’t able to evade Kuroo that Hajime sent him a request to call. Tooru accepted, of course, and tried to shush Kuroo with no small amount of effort.

“Iwa-chan!” he chirped in greeting, settling himself comfortable at his desk. “How’s life without me going? Must be boring as ever, isn’t it?”

Before Hajime could reply, Kuroo elbowed Tooru out of the way and shoved his face in front of the camera. “Hey, my man, Iwaizumi. How’s it hanging?”

Hajime shot him an unamused look. “Yes, Sawamura is doing fine. He’ll return your endless texts when he’s finished with his midterms, so ‘stop fussing, Kuroo,’ he says.” He added quotation marks with his fingers around Sawamura’s message.

Tooru laughed as he reclaimed his space from a pouting Kuroo, who dejectedly returned to his side of the room to sulk. “Nice to see you too, Iwa-chan. How’s your calc professor now? Is he any less of a tyrant yet?”

As Tooru expected, that set Hajime off on a long rant about his idiotic calculus professor, who abused his authority and acted like an absolute dictator. Tooru was soon fully absorbed in Hajime’s stories as they migrated to various acts of injustice against him and his friends by his professors and TAs—only in ranting had Tooru ever been able to make Hajime talk more than himself for a while. He chuckled at Hajime’s occasionally crude comments and interjected his own snarkiness whenever it was appropriate. (Tooru was always extra attentive when video-calling with his best friend, after one bout of mind-wandering had resulted in Hajime calling him an airhead—which he most certainly was _not_ , thank you very much.)

The tale of a particularly terrible day Hajime had endured the week before made Tooru laugh until his stomach hurt.

His best friend scowled at him. “It’s not funny, Oikawa, I almost lost _two weeks’ worth_ of assignments,” he snapped, eyebrows drawn together in an adorable frown.

“You need to relax,” Tooru chirped. “It’s only our second year, if you continue like this, you’ll never last until the end of uni.”

Hajime shook his head and directed the conversation away from himself. “What about you? How’s your team doing?”

“Absolutely _horrid_ , Iwa-chan,” Tooru replied immediately, his face pinching up in an irritated frown. “Not everyone, obviously, and definitely not me, but the coach _still_ won’t let Ushiwaka-chan replace the current ace even though he’s miles ahead in skill. I hate tossing to our ace during practices—he’s just so unpredictable, and when I think I’ve figured out a pattern for what works, he goes and messes it all up and blames _me_. How is that fair?” He punctuated his outrage by throwing his arms into the air exasperatedly. “You’d think that after playing on the team for four years, he’d have figured out that he might be the ace, but the six people on that court work _together_ to win.”

Hajime actually laughed. “That sounds like some advice you should’ve given to your middle school self.”

With a pout, Tooru crossed his arms over his chest and turned away from the camera. “Shut up, Iwa-chan.” He didn’t enjoy the memories of that particular period in his life, and although he knew now that he’d grown from it immeasurably, sometimes he still wished that he could go back and redo his unhealthy obsession with maintaining his place above Kageyama.

“You and Ushijima sure have bonded, haven’t you?” When Tooru looked up, Hajime had his eyebrows raised and wore a wry smile.

“Ooh, Iwa-chan are you jealous?” Tooru sang. “Don’t worry, you’re still my favourite ace.”

His best friend scoffed. “As if. And anyways, have you talked to your coach about—”

A noise from Hajime’s side of the call drew Tooru’s attention. “Oh, Iwa-chan, your roommate’s coming to drag you away, better hurry. Talk to you later!”

With a smile, Tooru shut off the connection before Hajime could respond, though he caught a glimpse of Hajime’s door opening behind him. He didn’t like Hajime’s roommate. They’d only met once, through an earlier video call, and Tooru had instantly hated the condescending and sarcastic attitude that had reminded him so much of the tall, four-eyed blonde from Karasuno’s team the year they’d played against Kageyama. Looking back, he might’ve even said he liked Ushiwaka’s _You should have gone to Shiratorizawa_ better than the way Hajime’s roommate seemed to look down on him.

Minutes later, Tooru’s phone vibrated, his lock screen lighting up to show a new Line message from Hajime.

_How did you know he was coming??_

Tooru chuckled and replied, _Don’t you know, Iwa-chan? I’m psychic :P_. Well, it wasn’t like Hajime would’ve believed him if he’d said it was a side effect of being half-vampire, so claiming to be psychic would at least incite an eyeroll out of him.

The incident, if it could even be called that, was forgotten fairly quickly. Their routine of telling each other about the worst parts of their school life continued, but soon, their schedules became consumed by volleyball and tests and studying furiously for midterm exams. Being the childhood friends that they were, however, Tooru and Hajime had long since created a practice to ensure each other of their mutual well-being: _good morning_ and _good night_ messages at precisely the times when they awoke or went to bed. If either of them missed more than three check-ins, then they would initiate a call no matter how busy their lives.

When Hajime had first suggested it, claiming that Tooru had no sense of his own health when he became obsessed with a goal, Tooru had voiced his many doubts. However, after experiencing the plan in action throughout first year, he’d conceded that it worked for them.

So when Hajime missed three check-ins consecutively, what was Tooru to do except worry excessively and spam his Line inbox as he searched for a chance to call?

The Hajime who accepted his video call looked positively horrible. Tooru nearly shrieked at the darkness beneath his eyes, the redness _inside_ them, and the terribly messy mop of hair on his head.

The worst was when he spoke. “Ah, Oikawa.” His voice was scratchy and cracked on every other syllable, and his nose was so stuffy that Tooru’s name came out of Hajime’s mouth like _Oigaba_. “S’rry I missed the check-ins.” He seemed about to say more, but was overtaken by a violent coughing fit.

Tooru shook his head frantically. “Don’t worry about it, Iwa-chan. Sorry for waking you up.” Or so he thought, judging by the blanket wrapped around Hajime’s shoulders. “Go back to sleep. Are your friends taking notes for you?” It was then that he noticed the incoming footsteps from down Hajime’s hall, and the familiar chuckle of one Sawamura Daichi. “Ah, so that’s a yes.”

Hajime nodded weakly, his eyes struggling to focus. “Yeah, they’ve got it covered. ’M gonna take a nap.”

“Wait, Iwa-chan, not yet, they’ll need you to open the door—”

“Night, Tooru.”

Hajime disconnected the call and Tooru sighed. He hoped that his best friend wouldn’t remember Tooru’s words later—he hadn’t exactly been subtle about his hearing just then. Then again, Hajime had been fairly drowsy already, so his sickness-addled brain shouldn’t be able to process the sheer oddness of Tooru’s comments.

Only moments later did he notice Hajime’s slip at the end of their conversation. _He called me ‘Tooru,’_ he thought almost giddily. _He hasn’t done that since . . ._

Belatedly, Tooru felt the silly smile on his face that he would deny to anyone who happened to see. He knew it was just in the heat of Hajime’s delirious fever and likely wouldn’t happen again, but hearing his first name from Hajime’s lips for the first time in years made him feel incredibly sentimental.

Later that night, Hajime’s roommate messaged Tooru on Line to let him know that Hajime was feeling slightly better and for him not to worry. (Somehow, even through the screen, Mr. Roommate had managed to emulate that attitude Tooru hated so much.) Tooru responded formally and pushed down his loathing just enough to inquire for details about Hajime’s state. To which he received the rude response of _ask him yourself once he’s up, I’m not getting paid for this_.

What an asshole.

Without Hajime to bother, Tooru turned his spamming towards Hanamaki and Matsukawa instead, who had decided to take a gap year and started a YouTube channel together while travelling that had risen quickly in popularity. They’d returned to Miyagi for university beginning this year but still regularly posted videos about their school life and funny stories of their times in high school. Of course, with their dramatic flair, they’d started the school year off with the boyfriend tag.

“Finally!” Tooru had exclaimed when he’d seen the latest video on their channel. He’d congratulated them with around fifty messages each, and another twenty, at least, berating them for making him find out from their YouTube video.

It was immensely well-received of course—their fans had been waiting for them to get together for ages, and Tooru was sure they’d only waited until the start of the school year to post that video to tease them. (And for the cherry blossom theme, of course.)

But alas, Hanamaki and Matsukawa had always been masters of ignoring Tooru when necessary, and they’d evidently deemed midterm exam week as such, since a majority of his messages went unanswered. Which worked out for Tooru as well, since with no one to indulge in his procrastination, he had no other choice but to study.

After Hajime’s return to healthiness, Tooru and Hajime survived another gruelling exam season with their twice-daily check-ins and were soon back to communicating by video chat on the regular. Tooru might even have said that their rates of messaging and calling each other had increased since the bizarre occasion of Hajime being so seriously sick.

With that in mind, he supposed it wasn’t surprising to hear Kuroo chatting (rather loudly, in his opinion) with Hajime as Tooru approached their room.

He pushed the door open with no small amount of force. “Kuroo, get someone else to spy on your boyfriend for you. Or better yet, get out of here and to it yourself and stop bothering Iwa-chan.”

Kuroo whirled around and stared at him, shocked for only a moment before his expression morphed back into his usual cat-like smirk. “It’s not good to be so possessive in a relationship, Oikawa.”

Tooru sputtered and reddened, and he could hear Hajime denying Kuroo’s implied statements with vigor. “Go away, Kuroo. And Iwa-chan, don’t think I couldn’t hear you complaining about me before my terrible roommate offered you a deal you most certainly will not be accepting.”

Hajime’s eyebrows drew together. “Literally how long were you listening outside the door to hear all that?”

His hand coming up to his chest, Tooru gasped in mock indignation. “How rude, Iwa-chan. Do you think I’d need to camp outside my own door? Please, you two were so loud, I could hear you from the stairwell.”

The frown on Hajime’s face didn’t lessen in the slightest and it took Tooru a moment to realize why. When he did, he hurriedly changed the topic, not wanting to explain while Kuroo was still in the room. Hajime, however, wasn’t the type to forget these things easily, and the look he gave Tooru as they carried on the conversation told him that he was definitely going to be interrogated at a later date.

It turned out that before that day ever came, Kuroo actually figured out the truth for himself.

In a moment of déjà vu, Tooru was walking down the hall towards his dorm room and heard Kuroo lamenting (to Hajime, Tooru found out a moment later), “You didn’t tell me your best friend was a freaking _vampire_. Do you know how cool that is? Has he ever sucked your blood? Does he have super-strength?” His questions were cut off abruptly as Tooru all but slammed the door open, the metal doorknob leaving a visible mark on the wall behind.

Hajime, not having noticed Tooru’s presence, said, “Come on, he’s managed to convince you of it now too? Is he still— Hey, Oikawa, are you still going around telling people you’re a vampire? I thought you’d stopped doing that after we graduated. We’re not kids anymore.”

Kuroo, who’s face had looked a mixture of surprise and fright from having been caught asking questions by Tooru, shot Hajime a look. Upon seeing his sincerity, he turned back to Tooru and raised an eyebrow that said, clearer than ever, _Is he serious? Does he really not realize?_

Tooru raised his shoulder in a half-shrug and glanced at the ceiling in a _What can you do?_ fashion. “All right, no more being chummy with my roommate. One day, you guys are going to gang up on me and I’ll have to go running back to Makki and Mattsun, who’ll probably be too busy kissing to care.”

“Don’t worry, he’s all yours,” Kuroo drawled.

At the same time, Hajime exclaimed, “Hanamaki and Matsukawa are _dating_? When did this happen?” In an instant, Hajime had two pairs of eyes staring at him with exasperation. He scowled. “What?”

Kuroo shook his head and stood. “Iwaizumi, this is a bit much even for you. Don’t you ever watch their videos?”

Defensively, Hajime protested, “Of course I do! Just not . . . not regularly . . .”

Tooru sighed and shooed Kuroo away from the computer. “We’re talking about this later,” he whispered in his roommate’s ear.

Kuroo nodded. “For the record,” he whispered back, “I don’t think any differently of you. If that helps.”

In response, Tooru squeezed his shoulder and took his spot in front of the webcam. He then began to give Hajime a very detailed recount of how Hanamaki and Matsukawa had announced their relationship to the world (or at least to their friends and fanbase). Tooru whined about their betrayal in not telling him about their relationship first and insisted that he’d predicted this since practically the beginning of time. He also teased Hajime for not realizing all their innuendos and references in their four-way group chat had been justified.

Hajime, in return, tried to retaliate by bringing up the vampire issue, which Tooru dodged only narrowly when he heard Hajime’s friends approaching his room and told him so.

“Bye-bye, Iwa-chan, don’t want to keep your friends and” —Tooru’s eyes widened as he caught part of their conversation— “y-your girlfriend waiting.”

He could see the confusion in Hajime’s eyes and the question forming on his lips, but quickly shut off the connection before anything could be done.

“Smooth,” Kuroo commented sarcastically from his side of the room.

Tooru stuck his tongue out. “Don’t worry, Iwa-chan’s too dense to figure it out from that.” In a quieter voice, he muttered, “Not for lack of effort on my part, though.”

Kuroo, somehow, heard his additional comment and laughed. “Yeah, Iwaizumi is good at ignoring what’s right in front of him.” At that, he gave Tooru a pointed look. “He’s a fool to not have noticed how you feel by now.”

He knew it would’ve been pointless to deny it, so Tooru simply sighed. “He’s not a fool, that’s just how he is. By the way, how did you figure it out?”

Blinking at the abrupt change of topic, Kuroo snorted when he caught on. “Come on, think about it. Endless bottles of tomato juice, pomegranate juice, cranberry grapefruit juice—any type of ordinary red beverage you can think of. Never mind that they’re all supposed to be different shades and yours always seem to be the exact same. Besides, I asked Matsukawa, and you don’t even like tomato juice.”

“You talk to Mattsun and Makki?” Tooru squeaked, suddenly concerned about all the secrets Kuroo could access through his other best friends (because they’re a package deal, of course).

Kuroo shrugged nonchalantly. “Sometimes. Mainly when you and Iwaizumi are being idiots about each other. They understand how I feel.” He smirked. “I know we both agree on Iwaizumi being the densest guy to ever exist, but you’re not far behind if you really don’t know.”

“Know what?” Tooru asked, but he had a feeling he knew exactly to what Kuroo was referring. He’d seen the signs, the little details—he just hadn’t mustered up the courage to admit it to himself yet. (It always seemed to good to be true.)

With that infuriatingly knowing smirk on his face, Kuroo ignored him and turned his attention to his phone. Tooru huffed and turned away as well, pushing away the thoughts that had arisen from their conversation.

It took Hajime another two weeks to confront Tooru about him mysteriously knowing when people approach his room. During that time, Tooru had become sick of making up excuses in his mind for the explanation and had reverted to what he always said: the truth.

“I’ve told you, Iwa-chan,” he said in what he hoped was a frustrated tone. “I’m half-vampire, remember? I did inherit _some_ enhanced senses at least, even if I’m not a brute like you.”

This only made Hajime roll his eyes. “Do you have any other explanation? Like admitting to whatever device you’ve planted around my room.”

“I would _never_ , Iwa-chan.” Tooru wrinkled his nose as if the very thought disgusted him. “Whether you believe me isn’t my problem, I’ve told you the truth.”

For the first time in all the years Tooru had been trying to convince his best friend of his vampirism, Hajime looked almost conflicted.

 _Progress, I suppose_ , Tooru thought. _That’s a start_.

It also made Tooru wonder. He’d spent so long insisting this one thing to Hajime, who simply wouldn’t believe despite the mountain of evidence.

Would he think the same if Tooru confessed he loved him—romantically?

And would Tooru even have the opportunity? The comments he’d overheard from Hajime’s friends outside his door—comments about a mysterious girlfriend Hajime had never mentioned, whose laugh was clear and beautiful like a bird’s song—had caused doubts he hadn't known existed.

Perhaps Tooru had lost his chance a long time ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're so close to the end! I can't make any promises on when the next update will be (there seems to be a trend here), but I'll definitely try to get it done ASAP. Before May. Hopefully. I definitely won't abandon this, so stay tuned!


	6. Age Twenty-One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally here! I finished a really big project for school last night so I sat down today and binge-wrote for hours until I finally came out with this. I think this is a rather satisfying conclusion to Tooru and Hajime's amazing tale of combatting Hajime's extreme denseness (to more than just Tooru's vampirism).
> 
> Interesting fact: I discovered while researching for this chapter that sunsets in Tokyo happen wayyy earlier than I expected (trying not to spoil anything lol).
> 
> This is an unexpectedly long chapter for me and there's a lot happening here, so brace yourselves and enjoy!

Hajime never ended up telling Tooru about his girlfriend formally, but since Tooru’s slip-up, he’d spent more and more time during their calls talking about their lunch dates and library study sessions. Tooru smiled and listened as Hajime painted a picture of an intelligent girl with just a hint of mischief in her eyes, one who never hesitated to help anyone she could and spoke her mind freely. Almost every time, Hajime would ask Tooru whether he was feeling well, and realizing the implication, Tooru would strengthen his smile and tease his best friend until the question was forgotten.

He’d be lying if he said he felt particularly sad when Hajime gave him news of their breakup halfway into August of their third year. It was quite amazing that their relationship had even lasted as long as it did, and Tooru did feel fractionally bad for Hajime to have lost such an intellectual and caring influence in his life. However, Tooru would always be a jealous person—in middle school, it was of Kageyama’s talent, and now, so many years later, it was of Hajime’s (now ex-)romantic partner—and his jealousy ran nearly as deep as his ambition.

Truthfully, considering Hajime’s nature, Tooru would’ve expected him to be more upset at the breakup. Instead, he was calm and rational, harbouring nearly none of the sorrow and frustration that would have been reasonable for any other in his position. There was something different in his eyes when Tooru asked about why they separated, but strangely, he couldn’t decipher what.

He brought it up in conversation with Kuroo once as they were heading out of a coffee shop and the latter’s response to his questioning remarks about Hajime’s nonchalance was a very exaggerated eye roll. “Shouldn’t you be glad? He’s single again, which means you can finally make your move at some point and stop wallowing in not-actually-unrequited-love like a teenager.”

“That’s not the point,” Tooru stressed. “Besides, his breakup doesn’t change the fact that he’s straight. As a pole.”

(In some cruel twist of fate, it just so happened that the next street pole they passed had been bent by some accident or another and had never been repaired. Kuroo snickered. Tooru pushed him off the sidewalk.)

“Whatever you say, Oikawa.” Kuroo set himself right back to where he’d been strolling alongside Tooru. “I still think you should tell him though, it’s been years. It was bad enough seeing the romantic tension between the two of you on the court back then, I didn’t think I’d have to live with it through most of uni too.”

Tooru felt his face reddening as he pointedly refused to meet Kuroo’s eyes. “Shut up!”

A few moments passed between them in silence, until Tooru finally sighed. “I don’t know what I’d do if you were wrong, though. I mean, it would make sense if— _if_ , just _if_ —he liked me too that he’s so indifferent about breaking up with his girlfriend, but what if he isn’t? I’d ruin everything.”

Kuroo groaned. “You sound like the protagonist of a romantic novel. For fuck’s sake, just tell him, and if your friendship is really as strong as you make it out to be, then everything will work out fine. The way I see it, you’ll end up as that one annoying married couple who likes to remind everyone of how you guys went from childhood friends to husbands.”

Tooru snorted at the imagery. “Why do you know what the protagonist of a romantic novel sounds like?”

With only the faintest blush on his face, Kuroo hurriedly replied, “Bokuto has varied interests. When Akaashi needs a break, he always ends up talking about it to me instead.” The _please don’t ask anymore_ was blatantly present in his tone.

And Tooru might’ve been called an asshole before (by Kuroo himself, no less), but he wasn’t always terrible, so that was the end of _that_ conversation. Likewise, Kuroo wasn’t a completely jerk-ish person, so he lay off on teasing his roommate about his crush for a while. Which was, of course, when life decided to throw Tooru a curveball.

“You can’t refuse, Oikawa,” Hanamaki proclaimed, shaking his head at Tooru through the screen. “Everyone who was anyone during our high school volleyball years is going to the party this year, and it’s in Tokyo so you have no excuse.”

Matsukawa nudged his way into the frame. “Even grumpy old man Iwaizumi is going, Oikawa. There’s no reason for you to miss out.”

It wasn’t that Tooru didn’t want to go to the party. He hadn’t become any less popular since his high school days and had attended many such celebrations for much less official reasons, but his reluctance wasn’t only due to his instinct to avoid Hajime. Between the coach’s increasingly strict training regimes during volleyball practice and endless heaps of assignments, the last couple weeks had been abnormally stressful. And now Hanamaki was informing him of this party that was to take place in _five days_.

“All the more reason for you to go,” Hanamaki told him when he voiced his concerns. “Come on, Oikawa, it’s Halloween. Besides, you won’t even have to put any effort into making a costume.”

Tooru shot him a look. “You know I dress up enough to be recognisable every year.”

“But you always wear the same costume every year,” Matsukawa pointed out. “It won’t cost you anything to dig it out of your closet again. And maybe if Iwaizumi sees it enough times, he’ll finally believe it.”

At that, Tooru rolled his eyes, ended that thread of conversation with a defeated, “Fine, I’ll go, text me the details,” and not-so-subtly changed the topic.

Long after he ended the call with Hanamaki and Matsukawa, while he was lying awake in bed trying to chase away his to-do list from his mind, Hajime texted him about the party.

_Hey Oikawa, what are you gonna dress up as?_

Tooru had barely opened the keyboard to respond when he received a follow-up: _For the party. On Halloween. Uh, Matsukawa said you’re going?_

Nearly laughing out loud at Hajime’s awkwardness (and perfect grammar, as always), Tooru typed out a reply.

_Iwa-chan shouldn’t u know by know? Im gonna go as me!_

Barely a moment passed before his phone chimed. _You say that every year, but you always end up going as a vampire instead. Should I expect that this year too?_

With an exasperated sigh and a shake of his head, Tooru answered, _but Iwa-chan I AM a vampire ;)_

Knowing Hajime’s response to that particular statement, he added, _dw you’ll see when I get there xD_ and turned off his phone. It was a while before he actually fell asleep, but instead of school, it was Hajime who occupied his tired mind.

 

\---

 

Five days passed in the blink of an eye and before long, Tooru was being ushered out of their home by Kuroo (who had known about the party all along but had kept it secret from him), still adjusting his Dracula-esque cape. There were no fake fangs or red contacts—both accessories irritated his actual appendages, and why use fake fangs when you had real ones? All in all, Tooru had essentially reused the same costume he’d had for the last fifteen years, the only changes being that he’d grown more handsome as the years passed and his cape had lengthened with his height.

“Stop being so rough, Kuroo,” Tooru whined, tugging his arm out of his roommate’s grip. (Thank goodness Kuroo hadn’t made claws part of his costume.) “It’s not like I’m gonna back out now.” As they kept walking along the road, passing block after block, he asked, “Aren’t we going to take a cab?”

“Nope.” Kuroo grinned as they turned onto a side street. “It’s at Bokuto’s place. We’re almost there.”

After one dramatic sigh, two more turns, and a pair of enthusiastic lunatics (see: a pumpkin-headed Hinata Shouyou and mummified Tanaka Ryuu) waving at them from a passing car’s window, Tooru finally arrived in one piece outside Bokuto’s home. Or rather, Bokuto’s _parents’_ house that was practically a mansion no matter how much he liked to deny it.

“Hey, hey, hey, KUROO!” A tall figure clad in a baggy owl costume bounded out the door before Tooru could even reach the porch and ran with an arm (wing?) raised towards Kuroo. The latter responded in kind and Tooru could only watch as the two idiots performed a series of mirrored movements in a complicated handshake, effectively blocking the door to anyone (himself) trying to enter the house.

Finally, Bokuto seemed to notice his presence. “Hey, Oikawa. Come on in, Iwaizumi’s already here with Sawamura and Kozume—”

“Kenmaaaaaa!” Kuroo had pushed past Bokuto sometime during his greeting and had captured his childhood friend (boyfriend now, Tooru supposed) in his arms, resting his chin on the shorter boy’s head.

Kenma, who was wearing a rain cape-like garment with cat ears on the hood, muffled something into Kuroo’s chest and a second later, he was let go by reluctant arms. Tooru saw the cause as soon as Kenma was visible again—his small hands held a gaming device, and his thumbs were working away furiously. Kuroo slipped behind his boyfriend and all but carried him over to the couch, where he promptly deposited him in his lap.

Tooru chuckled at their display and glanced around, his smile brightening once he located Hanamaki and Matsukawa chatting by the kitchen counter. “Makki, Mattsun!” The two turned towards him as he approached, and Tooru saw the full extent of their costumes.

They were dressed almost identically but in opposite colours. Where Hanamaki’s long robes were white and lined with red flames, Matsukawa’s were black and grey, with crimson fire licking at the same places. Traditional sashes tied their robes closed at the waist and matched each of their colour schemes.

Hanamaki was grinning widely when Tooru finally reached them. “Oikawa, finally. We were wondering if you’d chickened out last minute.”

Tooru hugged them in turn. “Makki, don’t you know? I always keep my word.”

Matsukawa whispered in his ear, “Then we should make you promise to tell Iwaizumi your feelings so you can both stop _pining_.”

“Mattsun!” Tooru faked an indignant gasp, but he knew his cheeks were flushed pink.

At that moment, Matsukawa chose to pull back and grin. “I see you’re continuing the tradition.” He nodded at Tooru’s cape and his stylish outfit of black and red. “We’re kinda matching.”

“Yeah, I was gonna say.” Tooru wagged a finger at the pair. “You guys seriously went with the Shiro Mujou, Kuro Mujou thing? They’re not even together.”

“But they look good together,” Hanamaki protested. “They are the epitome of bromance-encased romance, they even have children.” Then, he smirked. “Maybe next year, you and Iwaizumi should dress up as Shiro and Kuro, it would be fitting.”

Tooru gave him a confused head tilt and Matsukawa explained, “You two dance around your feelings so much, it makes your emotional maturity seem like those of children’s.”

“I do not,” Tooru argued. “I know who I like. I’m just also smart enough to know it won’t happen because Iwa-chan isn’t gay.” At their twin looks of exasperation, he repeats, “He’s not! He never has been. And he had a girlfriend not so long ago, you know that.”

A sudden familiar voice made Tooru jump and whirl around. “It’s not good to talk about people behind their backs.”

Hajime, who was painted patches of green in different shades and had stitches where they connected, stood with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrows raised.

“I—Iwa-chan, how much did you hear?” Tooru squeaked, genuinely afraid of his answer.

With narrowed eyes, Hajime asked, “Why, did you say something I shouldn’t hear?

“No,” Hanamaki and Matsukawa replied in sync, drowning out Tooru’s quieter, “Uh, maybe.”

Still looking a bit puzzled, Hajime shook his head. “Whatever.” He turned his eyes to Tooru and his expression softened, a small smile pulling at his lips. “It’s good to see you, Oikawa.”

Wide-eyed at Hajime’s admission, Tooru froze for a beat before he flung his arms around his best friend. “I missed you, Iwa-chan,” he mumbled into Hajime’s shoulder.

“I missed you too, you dumbass,” was the answer in his ear.

After they separated, Hajime hit him over the head. “You came as a vampire _again_? Haven’t you gotten tired of it yet?”

Tooru bit back the instinctive urge to point out that Halloween was the only time he could truly present all of himself to his friends. “It’s called upholding tradition, Iwa-chan,” he said instead. “Something you obviously don’t know about since you even dressed up like the brute you are.”

Matsukawa snorted at Hajime’s glare and Hanamaki grinned as he asked, “Hey, Iwaizumi, where did you leave your kitchen knives?”

Hajime brandished a weapon that he’d seemingly plucked out of thin air (or his back pocket) and Tooru let out a shrill _eep!_ as he escaped to hide behind the kitchen counter.

“Come on, Iwa-chan. You don’t want me to die so young right?” Tooru tried as they circled around the counter, trying to avoid the other attendees standing around or searching for drinks.

“I dunno, doesn’t sound like such a bad idea,” Hajime drawled, and Tooru could see the laughter in his eyes.

They went around like that a couple more times, during which Hanamaki had pulled Matsukawa away to dance. The music pulsing from the adjacent room gradually became louder until it was all Tooru could hear.

He stopped running from Hajime and leaned in close before he said, “Let’s go somewhere else, it’s getting too loud.”

Hajime nodded and together, they ventured out the kitchen and turned a few corners until they arrived at the backdoor. They settled on the porch just outside, overlooking the spacious backyard lit by the moon and stars. Tooru fiddled with one of Hajime’s knives—fake, he now realized, made of a rubber material instead of steel.

He turned and smiled at Hajime. “So how have you been?”

They talked through several songs, catching up with each other’s lives and making inside jokes that led to them reminiscing about their childhood. When they’d finally fallen into comfortable silence, Tooru’s head resting on Hajime’s shoulder, the music from inside became far more pronounced. Tooru hummed along to a few here and there, until a song he rather liked began to play.

That was when an idea came to his mind.

Tooru jumped up from his spot and reached out a hand to Hajime. “Dance with me?”

Hajime blinked at Tooru’s sudden change of position and responded, “You know I don’t dance, Oikawa.”

Tooru pouted. “Please?”

His best friend shook his head. “I’ll pass. You go have fun.”

“Fine, I’ll go dance with Kuroo.” Tooru sauntered off with all his usual airs, but glanced back once he was far enough away to see if Hajime would follow. (He didn’t, which was expected, but Tooru was disappointed all the same.)

Minutes blended into each other as Tooru lost himself to the music and migrated across the room wherever his movements took him. It was the most fun he’d had in a long time, and he was even able to muffle a part of his subconsciousness that wanted him to return to Hajime’s side.

Some time later, Tooru found himself sipping a glass of blood as he watched people dance, make out, and chatter away. He’d developed a pattern at one point of dancing for a song or two, pausing to mix weird drinks for Bokuto with some of their other friends, and then returning to the dance floor. He hadn’t seen Hajime since two or three of those cycles earlier, where he’d been laughing with Sawamura and a couple others who used to attend Karasuno.

Kuroo and Kenma had disappeared sometime, though Tooru wasn’t sure if they were in another storey of the house or if they had left altogether. He hoped it was the former, since he wasn’t sure how he was going to go home without Kuroo’s direction.

“Where did you get the wine?”

Tooru starts at the sound of Hajime’s voice so close to his ear, nearly spilling the contents of his glass. “Ah, Iwa-chan, don’t sneak up on me like that.”

Hajime shrugged. “Whatever, give me some of that. I’ve had nothing but cheap beer all night.” He reached for the glass and Tooru scrambled to pull it away.

“No, Iwa-chan!” He looked around to make sure no one was in a position to overhear their conversation before adding, “It’s not wine, it’s blood. So you can’t have any.”

With a frown, Hajime retracted his arm. “If you don’t want to share, you can just say so.”

Sensing that this conversation would go exactly how their previous conversations had gone about his half-vampirism (aka nowhere), Tooru hurriedly changed the topic. However, their talk was cut short minutes later when one of Bokuto’s current teammates pulled Tooru away for their next segment of ‘What crazy thing can we get Bokuto to do while mostly drunk and what are the chances he won’t remember it in the morning?’ The invitation was extended to Hajime as well, but he refused and left to find their underclassmen from Seijoh.

When Akaashi finally blew up and put an end to their Bokuto-related antics, Tooru pulled himself into conversation with Hanamaki, who had separated from Matsukawa as the latter went to obtain more alcohol.

“How can he be so _dense_ ?” Tooru complained. “I’m not even trying to hide it. Scratch that, I’ve been practically _flaunting_ it to him since I decided he should know and he _still_ doesn’t believe me.”

Hanamaki shrugged. “It’s Iwaizumi, he literally has ‘rock’ in his name,” he pointed out. “’Sides, if he weren’t so dense, you wouldn’t have been able to hide your feelings from him for so long.”

Tooru glared at him. “Those are two completely different things. He thought my animal blood was _wine_ —I’ve been drinking it around him for the last fifteen years! How does he still think it’s whatever red beverage that’s convenient for the occasion?”

“I mean, you do remember how he religiously bought you those vending machine tomato juice cans, right?” The comment earned Hanamaki another glare. “You really could just tell him. Like, _really_ tell him.”

“Do you think I haven’t tried?” Tooru cried. “You’ve witnessed like half my attempts, haven’t you seen how completely stubborn he is on refusing to believe me?”

Hanamaki shook his head. “I don’t mean like that. Sure, you’ve told him verbally that you’re half-vampire, but at this point, you need to show him. Flash your fangs, or your eyes, or something, I dunno. But Iwaizumi won’t believe it until he sees it, and that’s your best bet if you want him to know.” He paused. “Or you can just give up.”

Tooru’s half-hearted protest died in his throat as he pondered Hanamaki’s words. Did he want Hajime to believe? The answer that came to his mind first was ‘Yes,’ but that may have just been a product of his continuous efforts over the years. Was it really so necessary that Hajime understand what he was? What difference would it make?

He wasn’t sure there was a correct answer to that. Part of him believed it would hardly make a difference at all. So what if Hajime knew he was a vampire, and so what if he didn’t? They’d been friends for fourteen years and counting, and Tooru knew that Hajime wasn’t the type of person to break off their friendship for something so trivial.

Another part of him wasn’t so brave. That side of Tooru genuinely worried that Hajime would see him differently, that he would push him away and shun him. That side had gnawed away at the back of his mind for years—the side that feared the repercussions, however unlikely they may be, and urged Tooru to reconsider.

Yet a third side existed, one that insisted the opposite. This side of Tooru advocated for absolute honesty in his friendship with Hajime, and that included making sure he knew what Tooru really was. Consequences be damned, this side of Tooru had driven all of his previous attempts with the sole objective of leaving no more secrets between them.

(Well, maybe just the one. You know, the feelings one.)

No single one of those sides was anymore Tooru than another, and it made him quite conflicted. But even as he debated with himself, he knew what his resolve would be.

He needed Hajime to believe.

Hanamaki had been right in that Tooru had never tried to _show_ Hajime his identity. His best friend had somewhat witnessed his ability to heal quickly, but the demonstration had been impaired by lack of blood intake at the time. Tooru had never offered solid, physical proof to back up his constant insistence of his vampirism. Perhaps that was the final step he needed to take in order for Hajime to finally believe his claims.

By the time Tooru had broken out of his thoughts and turned back to Hanamaki, he found that his friend had disappeared. Which was fine—it gave Tooru an excuse to seek out Hajime and, as he told himself internally, get the confrontation over with before he could change his mind.

Tooru emptied his glass, set it in the sink, and began to search the rooms for Hajime’s presence. He asked a number of people acquainted with Hajime whether they had any idea of his whereabouts, but they all either shook their heads or pointed him to a different person. After ten minutes of the same responses, Tooru was feeling increasingly frustrated.

 _Maybe . . . maybe this wasn’t the right decision_ , he thought. _Maybe I’m not meant to tell him. Not tonight, at least._

That, of course, was when his attention was redirected by a tap on his shoulder.

“Iwa-chan!” Tooru exclaimed. “I was just looking for you.”

“I know.” Hajime raised his eyebrows. “What’s up?”

Tooru pulled them to a relatively secluded corner and opened his mouth, ready to show Hajime—his fangs, his eyes, _something_ to prove what he really was. Then, he stopped. And he hesitated.

That moment of hesitation was his downfall.

“Iwaizumi-kun,” a foreign voice (he’d heard it somewhere before, he must have, but— _where_?) called towards them, and Tooru watched as Hajime’s gaze slipped towards her.

And in those eyes flashed a second of sorrow before they softened.

 _Oh_.

Tooru wanted to hit himself over the head—no need for Hajime to do so, he would do it first. How had he not realized right away? It was Hajime’s girlfriend, possibly ex-girlfriend, though her act of seeking out Hajime was most likely to resume their relationship.

“I’ll see you later, Iwa-chan,” Tooru muttered and walked back into the crowd, not waiting to hear Hajime’s response. If he even had one.

It wasn’t long before he located Bokuto, who was gesturing animatedly about something to his former teammates.

“Give me the strongest drink you have,” Tooru demanded, plopping down on the couch.

Bokuto grinned. “Oikawa! Nice of you to join us again.” He pulled out a bottle from under the table. “Here, try this.”

Without waiting for the offering of a glass (and ignoring Bokuto’s slightly panicked “Wait!”), Tooru took a swig directly from the bottle. He blinked at the unfamiliar taste as he swallowed. “What is this?”

Bokuto looked far more concerned than he ought to be, in Tooru’s opinion. “It’s Awamori wine from Okinawa. My parents brought back a case from their business trip. You’re supposed to dilute it with water because of how high the alcohol content is, Oikawa!”

Tooru frowned. He couldn’t tell if he had a naturally high tolerance or if his half-vampirism was interfering with the effect of alcohol on his senses, but it seemed that nothing had changed from his taste of the drink. “It’ll probably be fine,” he reassured Bokuto, who accepted that with a shrug and returned to whatever story he’d been telling earlier. Tooru listened only half-heartedly, taking frequent drinks from the bottle still dangling from his hand.

At some point, he registered a change in his perception of the room. There seemed to be a blurriness to his vision that hadn’t existed before and he felt much more relaxed than usual. Tooru liked it, this feeling of not having to worry or have his mind pestered by his daily concerns. He continued to drink until the bottle lightened significantly and, at some point, became completely empty.

“Hey, Bokuto—” His request for another bottle was cut off by a hand on his arm pulling him up from his seat and another taking the empty bottle out of his hands.

After several tries, Tooru’s gaze finally focused on the interrupter. The interrupter named Iwaizumi Hajime, who was staring at him with mountains of disapproval.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru slurred. “What’re you d’ing?”

“Cutting you off,” Hajime responded. “Sorry about earlier. You wanted to talk to me, right?”

“I did?” The room was spinning—and not in a good way.

Hajime sighed. “Okay, that’s it. You’re done. Let’s find Kuroo and take you home.”

“But Iwa-chan,” Tooru whined, “th’ party’sn’t over yet.”

“It is for you.” Hajime unceremoniously tugged Tooru out of the room and towards a quieter area of the house. “I saw Kuroo and Kenma by the stairs earlier. Come on.”

Tooru has just enough self-awareness through the fog in his mind to know that for a reason that his intoxicated consciousness could not grasp, he couldn’t leave yet. So he stopped in the empty hallway, shook his arm free from Hajime’s grip, and decidedly refused to budge another step.

If he had to lean on the wall for fear of falling, well, no one but Hajime needed to know that.

Hajime looked back at him with furrowed brows. “What are you doing, Idiotkawa?”

“I . . . I wanted . . .” Tooru struggled to find the right words. What had he wanted to say? “Need to tell you. Uh. S’mething import’nt.”

Adjusting his posture so that he was angled fully towards Tooru, Hajime asked, “You sure you wanna say it now? I don’t think you’re even sober enough to walk on your own.”

Tooru shook his head. “Need to tell. Need to say it, or—or can’t.”

“Can’t what?”

But Tooru ignored him. “Iwa-chan. Hajime. Want to call you that again, but you said no, so. Iwa-chan.” Tooru didn’t notice, at least not consciously, the guilt on Hajime’s face at his words. “But it doesn’t really matter. Iwa-chan or Hajime. Love you.”

He barely registered the shock that passed through Hajime’s face, until Hajime croaked, “What?”

Tooru met his best friend’s eyes, his temporary courage allowing him to hold Hajime’s gaze as words began to pour out of his mouth. “I love you so much. I’ve known I love you since we were fifteen and I was being stupid about Tobio-chan and you made me realize what’s more important, but I’ve loved you for even longer. I’ve never known how to _not_ love you, not since we met.” Even while intoxicated, there was a sliver of doubt inside Tooru that made him hesitate, but ultimately, he continued, “And I wanted to tell you when we were seven, tried to tell you all the years after that, but you never believed me.”

“Tell me what?” Hajime demanded. Tooru wasn’t sure if it was his imagination, but Hajime’s voice seemed hoarse, as if he’d just run a marathon and hadn’t drunken water yet.

“I’m a vampire. Half, but still vampire.” Tooru frowned, as if Hajime’s disbelief (which, at that point, he couldn’t really tell from just looking at his face) had offended him greatly. “You always think I’m joking but I’m not. See?”

He allowed his fangs to extend and bared his teeth. That was when he smelled it—the same sweetness that had drawn Tooru towards it in childhood, on the other end of which lay one currently very stunned Iwaizumi Hajime.

“You smell so good,” Tooru murmured, leaning in closer and closing his eyes as he breathed in Hajime’s scent. “Wanna taste you.”

There was a hitch in Hajime’s breath that Tooru might not have heard through his alcohol-muddled brain if not for his enhanced senses. “You can’t,” Hajime managed in a strangled voice. “I’m not food.”

The response sent Tooru veering back to his memory of their first meeting so hard that he pulled away from Hajime in shock. “You remember.” And so did Tooru—not just their childhood, but also his actions over the last few minutes. It was like Hajime’s words had flushed the alcohol from his system, leaving him far too aware of what had transpired.

God, what had he _done_?

“Oikawa, do you—do you really—” Hajime seemed unable to finish his thought, and taking that chance, Tooru stammered,

“Uh, I need to go. It was nice seeing you, Iwa-chan. Good night!”

“Oikawa, wait—”

By the time Hajime’s voice reached his ears, Tooru had already pinpointed Kuroo’s location, seized him by the arm, and was in the process of dragging him out the door. He walked faster and faster until he was sure they were at a speed and distance Hajime would not be able to follow.

“Hey, Oikawa, listen,” Kuroo began as he tried and failed to escape from Tooru’s clutch. “I love you like a bro, but bros don’t cockblock other bros, especially on a night like—” Abruptly, he cut himself off and stopped struggling.

Tooru turned to his roommate, surprised at his sudden silence.

Kuroo’s gaze was transfixed on Tooru’s face. “You’re crying.”

Becoming aware of the wetness on his cheeks, Tooru slowed their pace and released Kuroo to wipe his eyes. “I’m not,” he muttered. “I’m—”

“You’re crying,” Kuroo stated, concern plain in his tone. “Oikawa . . .” He tugged Tooru into an embrace. “Just let it out, it’s okay. No one else is around to see.”

That was true, Tooru realized. They’d stopped fairly close to their home, but it was late enough that the streets were practically deserted, save for a few passing cars. So he tucked himself into Kuroo’s arms and buried his head into his shoulder.

And he sobbed.

 

\---

 

Tooru avoided anything related to Hajime for the next few weeks. He rejected his best friend’s requests to video call, which stopped trickling in after a while when it appeared he got the message. He ignored his best friend’s texts on every possible communication app. He even asked their mutual friends not to give Hajime any opportunity to contact them, swearing them to secrecy.

All in all, it was depressing—even Tooru could admit it.

Kuroo tried to hide it, but Tooru knew he was talking to Hajime about him behind his back at times. He’d known when he’d woken up the morning after the party that his roommate would be the person to whom Hajime would turn for information and assistance, and thus, Tooru refrained from asking Kuroo to cease communication about himself with Hajime. It was for the best that Hajime was aware he wasn’t dead, simply avoiding him.

As the days dragged on, Tooru could feel his moods deteriorating. He smiled less and less, or so he was told, and his motivation to be productive decreased. With it went his performance at volleyball practice, to the point where the coach pulled him aside one afternoon and commanded that he bring himself back on track, under threat of benching him for the next half-season. Tooru promised he would try.

He wasn’t sure he would succeed.

Finally, weeks later, Tooru returned home to find Hajime sitting against the wall outside his door, waiting. He looked up as Tooru approached and pushed himself up.

“Oikawa.”

Hearing his voice after having gone without contact for so long hit something hard and deep inside Tooru, and he snapped. With steps that began as tentative but quickly turned frantic, Tooru crossed the distance between them and launched himself into Hajime.

“Iwa-chan, Iwa-chan,” he mumbled as he held onto his best friend, “I missed you so much. Never wanna do that again.”

“Missed you too,” Hajime said. “And if you don’t want to go through that, just answer my goddamned texts, you idiot.”

Tooru pulled back, shuffling his feet sheepishly. “I thought you’d be upset. I figured I could give you time to, you know. Think.”

“Hey.” Hajime drew Tooru’s attention back to his face. “Listen carefully, Shittykawa. Whatever happens between us, whatever either of us says or does, I’m always gonna be your best friend. Okay?”

The words warmed his heart but also strummed at a part of him that hissed _best friend_ back to Tooru, as if that was all he’d ever be. Out loud, he said, “Okay,” and smiled. “Wanna come in?”

Hajime nodded and followed Tooru inside the apartment. Tooru chucked his bag onto the floor by the coffee table before turning back to his guest. “So . . .” He glanced at Hajime. “What’s up?”

Anxiety was plain on Hajime’s face as he pursed his lips, then sighed. “Look, you know I’m not—I’m not good with emotions and stuff. And I’ve been told recently that I’m very dense when it comes to feelings.” Tooru couldn’t help but chuckle, knowing exactly who must have told him that. “But you made me realize something that night—well, a couple things, actually.

“The first, I should have said a long time ago. I need to apologize to you.” Hajime made sure Tooru would not interrupt before continuing, “I’ve always believed that there wasn’t anything supernatural that existed. That all the folklore were only stories. I brushed you off every time you tried to tell me one of your most well-kept secrets and I know it made you feel terrible. So I’m sorry.

“And I accept you. I know you, so I know you were definitely worried about that, but I told you before you came in and I’m telling you again now: no matter what happens, I will always be your best friend. Whether or not you drink animal blood doesn’t matter to me—you’re still the same Oikawa Tooru that I’ve had the privilege to know for the last fourteen years.

“The second thing, I should have told you on the night of the party. And I would have, if you’d given me time to respond before running away.” Hajime grinned. “Well, I would have preferred if you didn’t run away at all, but you could’ve at least saved it for afterwards.”

“Iwa-chan, just tell me what you wanted to say,” Tooru complained.

“Tooru.”

The sound of his name—his _first_ _name_ —falling from Hajime’s lips made him freeze, his wide eyes locked in contact with Hajime’s.

“Tooru,” he said again, his smile softer full of— “I love you.”

—love.

It was everywhere now that Tooru knew to look. Hajime’s posture, his cheeks, his eyes—everything about him screamed the affection, the love that he held for Tooru. And he was sure that everything in him screamed it back.

“Iwa-chan,” Tooru whispered, almost like a prayer. His arms reached towards him again, unbidden but not at all hesitant.

“It's Hajime.” He took a step forward and Tooru’s hands came to rest on his hips. “Call me by my name.”

“Hajime.” Tooru’s breath fanned over his face, their foreheads touching by the barest thread. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

Slowly, gently, their lips met in a closed-mouth kiss. Tooru shut his eyes and tightened his grip and focused on simply _feeling_. He was overwhelmed—Hajime’s scent, filling his nostrils; his warmth, pressed up against him and sending flames curling from every spot they touched; his firm hand on his shoulder, around his neck, curling through his hair—

And his lips, soft and full of _Hajime_.

Breathlessly, they pulled apart, though they remained close enough to feel each other’s exhales.

Hajime laughed. “Don’t cry, you dumbass.” He cupped Tooru’s cheeks and thumbed away his tears.

“I’m just happy,” Tooru murmured. “I never thought this could happen. I never would have hoped—”

“That’s why you’re an idiot,” Hajime deadpanned, earning him a pout.

“That’s not nice, Hajime!” And Tooru paused for just a second to revel in how _right_ it felt to have Hajime’s given name on his tongue. “Besides, you were the one who didn’t believe I was a vampire for _fourteen years_. I even ended up being the one confessing.”

“You were drunk off your ass and ran away after doing it.”

“At least I did it.”

They both stopped for a moment. Then, Hajime sighed. “Fine, you win. I’m sorry. But don’t think this will become a regular thing, got it? Tooru.”

It was worth it, Tooru thought, if only to have heard his name from Hajime’s mouth again. This was even better, of course—not only did he have a name, he also had Hajime’s acceptance and his love.

“Got it,” Tooru replied, finding Hajime’s hands and intertwining their fingers. His smile grew when he saw the pink flush to Hajime’s face and the emotion swimming in those green eyes that were usually so hard to read.

This was Hajime. Not Iwaizumi, not Iwa-chan, and certainly not Iwaizumi- _kun_.

This was Hajime, and he was Tooru’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for reading!
> 
> Special thanks to those who were along for the ride from the very beginning, a whopping five-and-a-half months earlier, and endured waiting sometimes more than a month for my updates. This is my first IwaOi fic and I've had so much fun writing this, I'm honestly sad to end it (which might be why this chapter turned out so much longer than the others). Alas, here lies the end of half-vampire Tooru and no-longer-as-dense-as-before Hajime's journey to find love.
> 
> I really appreciate all your support, so thank you again. Comments and kudos are welcomed!


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